Step Into the Night
by the ersatz diplomat
Summary: Remus and Tonks- an unlikely duo. Can a Punkrock Auror and Deceivingly Quiet Professor-ish Werewolf make it work? Place your bets now! 31 chapters, OoTP through HBP.
1. This May Call for a Proper Introduction

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! Nothing, I say! Just bestowing my favorite 'ship with the gift of living once again, if only for a while...it all belongs to that one lady...you know...that Rowling lady.

**Author's Note:** This is my first fic...tell me what I need to work on! AND I am painfully aware of the fact that Remus tries to deny his feelings for Tonks for such a ridiculous amount of time, but I like to imagine that his attraction to her was immediate, he just didn't want to own up to it, because he's so noble and afraid of hurting everyone. Like a good hero should be! As always, constructive criticism is openly accepted, as well as money, chocolate, or a new shirt, should you be so generously inclined. If you like, there may be more to follow this.

**Step Into The Night**

The Auror Formerly Known As The-Pink-Haired-Girl

"Finally make it in, Lupin?" Moody snapped. A crowd of faces turn to look at him as he stepped through the kitchen door, damp and bedraggled.

"Erm, sorry." He felt his face burn a bit as he took a seat next to Sirius Black. "I was out on an errand and was caught in the rain...obviously." He slipped a paper-wrapped package out of his coat pocket and passed it to Sirius.

"So you found 'em?", he muttered. The black-haired man tucked the parcel into his cloak. "I owe you one, Moony."

_And how many times have you sold me that line since we were twelve years old, Padfoot?_

He'd missed the introductions, stumbling in out of the rain a good ten minutes late, now trying to catch up with Moody's planning session for retrieving Harry from the Dursleys.

_More like rescuing...from what Harry lets slip, those Muggles are terrible to him..._

There were a few new people he didn't know personally, scattered through what remained of the original Order, but only one that he didn't recognize at all, a young woman sitting between Snape and Molly Weasley. He watched her for quite some time, blaming it on the fact that his eyes were unconsciously drawn toward her colorful appearance in the midst of grey walls and black cloaks. She had shockingly pink hair and was wearing a distractingly yellow trenchcoat over a lime green t-shirt with an unrecognizable slogan splashed across the front. Her head was tilted to the side, occasionally she jotted down a note on a scrap of parchment, or leaned over to whisper to Mrs. Weasley. A small smile played on her lips, emphasizing how completely at odds she was with the man sitting on her left, who could easily be described as the dreariest-looking person on earth.

_Snape should take some fashion lessons from her...brighten up his wardrobe...maybe a new hairstyle..._

He studied the juxtaposed Order members, the young woman so colorful that she looked like an Andy Warhol painting... next to Snape, draped in black, with a morose and bored expression, like he was sitting Shiv'ah and but not really in mourning.

_Mental Note: Do not to invite Snape to your funeral..._

The-Pink-Haired-Girl looked up from her covert conversation with Mrs. Weasley, and grinned at Remus, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Her toothy grin was so familiar, he knew he'd seen it somewhere before but couldn't place it. Lupin stared down at his tea, stirring it purposefully. He'd never seen her before tonight, sure that he would remember someone with hair the color of cotton candy, but she did look awfully familiar.

A snort of laughter on his right brought him out of his considerations. Sirius Black had his face his hands, shaking his head.

"What are you giggling about?" he hissed at the cackling ex-convict.

Sirius gestured vaguely across the room. The-Pink-Haired-Girl snickered again, but she no longer had pink hair, it was shoulder length, black and artfully tangled, wearing the same knowing, roguish smirk that he'd been trying to place all evening.

_Wait a second...what...?_

And suddenly, he knew who she was.

"Your...cousin." He ventured a guess, remembering a talk about Sirius' family a few weeks ago.

"Pfft. Yeah, that's her." Sirius mumbled, grinning back at her.

"Your cousin?"

_Why would one of Sirius' cousins be in the Order? Aren't they all... in prison? Or married to Lucius Malfoy? _

"Yep. Haven't seen Tonksy since her mum hexed my ass for taking her out on the motorcycle...Merlin, that's been years ago!"

"You didn't tell me your _cousin_ was in the Order."

"She wanted to! We wore the stupid helmets and everything, it was perfectly safe. I told 'Dromeda that, but she wouldn't hear it..." He shook his mop of black hair in dismay.

"No, Sirius. You didn't tell me that your cousin is in the _Order_."

Sirius abandoned his nostalgic excuse-making.

"Hmm, nope I didn't. And I didn't tell you that my cousin Tonks is an auror...in fact, a lady auror." Sirius wiggled his eyebrows suggestively over his butterbeer. "But I did tell you about metamorphmagus part. Really, Moony. You should pay more attention."

_Really, Padfoot. You should be less drunk when you try to tell me things._

They both fell silent for a moment, studying the Auror Tonks, formerly known as The-Pink-Haired-Girl, who was still pulling faces at Sirius with his own features, minus the stubbled jaw.

"I'm sorry to say, Padfoot, she looks better with your face better than you do."

Sirius choked on his butterbeer and hit himself in the teeth with the bottle. "Oww, damn."

" SOMETHING YOU'D LIKE TO ADD TO THE DISCUSSION, BLACK?" Moody roared at him.

"N-no, " he coughed between strangled laughs.

* * *

The general mood of the room grew exponentially cheerful following the conclusion of Moody's speech and somehow, Remus found himself trying to make his way through the parlor towards Auror Tonks, steadying a plate of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. He found her quickly, sitting on the arm of the sofa in the parlor watching the wildly-gesturing ruckus that was Sirius pantomiming scenes from anecdote about seemingly, the giant squid, in an attempt to make Minerva McGonagall laugh. He was failing miserably, as usual.

Remus sat down on the other end of the sofa, setting the plate of cookies on the table with a thud. She looked over at him mildly. He gestured towards her with a cup of cocoa.

"Would you like a-"

"-Oh, sure." She dropped onto the sofa next to him, taking the cocoa, "Thanks." She smoothed her trenchcoat over tattered jeans. Her eyes locked on his, and he felt it difficult to look down at his own mug.

_Moony, you're an arse. You're a member of the Order of the bleeding Phoenix...a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts... a Marauder, not to mention a Gryffindor...a sodding werewolf, too...can't even talk to a girl. Arse._

Ignoring the nagging voice in his head, he fixed her with his friendliest look.

"You're-" he started, but she cut in.

"-The Metamorphmagus. Yeah, and?" she finished, taking a swig from her mug. Her voice was breathy, but had a razor's edge. She settled back into the couch, crossing her legs.

_Yes_, _this is truly a member of the most anciently aggravating and nobly nefarious house of Black..._He smiled inspite of himself.

"I was going to say, 'Sirius' cousin', but which ever _nom de guerre_ you prefer is fine," he said, giving her a look of mock admonishment. Her eyes widened in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, "that was rude of me, I didn't mean-" her eyes dropped to her combat boots, "That was unnecessary-".

"-But considerably humorous, nonetheless." He shrugged, she laughed, glancing at him askance.

"You're-" she began

"The werewolf," hearing himself say it before he had realized he had, infact said it.

_Oh, crap. _

It wasn't that people didn't know about his..._problem_. He had only ever told his four closest friends about it with his own voice, and now two of them were dead, another on the list of people he would rather have dead, and the last still flailing insanely by the fireplace. He felt his face shade with embarrassment; he had accidentally told a random stranger his darkest secret.

Her eyebrows shot up. "I was going to say, 'Not offended?'" She leaned closer to him, her dark eyes glittering with lamplight, "But you are...really?," her voice was almost a whisper.

_Did she just lean _towards_ me? This is an unexpected development..._

The back of his neck felt hot, and he fidgeted in his seat. Her quizzical gaze never ventured from his face.

"Eh, no" He sighed, "not offended. And yes about that other bit..."

"Well, I would've never guessed," she sat back against the sofa cushion and sipped her cocoa with her odd, dark gaze still converging on him. She smiled with her lips on the mug, but it was kind, not scornful like he'd expected. He felt a weird tug in the pit of his stomach.

"Aren't you an auror?," he said, his voice heavy with unintentional derision, "You should be able to recognize a werewolf when you see one."

_Just trying to scrape up what's left of my dignity_, Remus thought, trying to justify his tone, even though he instantly regretted it.

Her eyes narrowed..in anger? He hoped not.

_Damn... _

"Blue eyes and dimples are not on the criteria list defining archetypical werewolf traits." The remark spilled from her lips drolly... but she blushed when she heard her words. A few moments of anxious silence surged between them like electricity. His neck felt so scorched he had to force himself not to tug on his shirt collar.

_Did she just say _that?

He burst into mortified laughter.

_And now, she's going to hex me..._

"For the sake of the conversation, we should pretend like I didn't say that...aloud," she said, shaking her head, "And just assume that I'm a bumbling idiot."

_Well, at least she didn't hex me..._

"You would retract such a lovely compliment?" He struggled to recover from the bout of chuckles that had overtaken him, "It's been ages since I've had a decent ego boost," he smirked at her. "Especially after the realization that the, erm, blue eyes and dimples, is it?" She blushed furiously."-Are accompanied by a rather mundane personality and, on occasion- fur." He shrugged and stared at her, one eyebrow raised. She stared back with those strange, dark eyes.

"-And as for you being a bumbling idiot...Well, I suppose I could give you a chance to disprove _that_ theory."

_Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire..._

The mingled laughter of Sirius and Arthur Weasley filtered through their silence as Sirius launched into another joke.

She smiled widely and stretched out a hand decked with heavy silver rings.

"I'm Tonks, by the way," She stated, as if their previous conversation had never taken place.

He shook her hand, unable to suppress a laugh. "Remus Lupin... providing conversations between utter strangers with the social faux pas necessary to cause the requisite amount of awkward silences."

" Oh...?" She laughed in appreciation. "Nice to meet you formally, finally, Remus... isn't that Latin?"

_Is she talking to me? That sounded far too lovely to be my name..._

"Is it?," he snapped out of his distraction. "What I meant was- you're not absolutely disgusted at the thought of drinking cocoa with a werewolf?" he queried, only half in jest and brandishing his mug at her.

_Merlin, I hope she's not disgusted..._

A weighty pause saturated the atmosphere as she nicked a cookie out of the stack on the plate.

"All men are dogs sometimes, Mr. Lupin," she quipped, the droll timbre soaked back into her voice, joining the sparkle in her eyes, "At least you're honest about it." She laughed rowdily and bit into the cookie with zeal, and suddenly his whole body felt unreasonably warm, as if he'd downed an entire mug of cocoa at once.


	2. The Importance of Being Sirius

Disclaimer: The only things I own are a laptop, an Ipod, a firefighter, and a weird sense of humor. As for the characters...well. They're not mine, see?

Author's Note: I like to put the author's note at the beginning.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

The Importance of Being Sirius

Early morning light filtered through the filmy window in the study, casting an opaque yellow-gray tint over shelves of dust coated books. A man lay stretched out over the sofa, resting comfortably on his back, his bare feet hanging over the arm. One long-fingered hand held a book propped open on his chest, the other hand was worked through thick but graying brown hair that fell heavily over a slightly furrowed brow. His smoky blue eyes darted back and forth, following the trail of words across the pages. All in all, he presented a state of general dishevelment, his faded blue oxford shirt was rumpled and untucked, khaki trousers worn and rolled up around his ankles. A cup of tea sat steaming on the floor, he reached down and picked it up without pausing in his reading.

"Still working on that, I see." A tall, lanky man leaned against the doorframe, shaking his shaggy black head in pity. He spooned some cereal from the bowl he held and munched on it pensively.

Remus Lupin raised an eyebrow at him over the cover of his book. "The tea, or 'Sahara'?"

"Don't you ever sleep?" He asked, aghast. "Or do you just live off of Muggle paperback novels and Earl Grey?"

"Good morning to you too, Sirius." He flipped over a page.

"You need to find yourself a girl, mate." Sirius sighed and flopped down in a chair, "Or perhaps..." he said, mischief in his voice,"You've already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet."

_Do not laugh, Remus. Don't do it._ _Don't give him the satisfaction...'Strumpet', though...who says that now? _

Another brown eyebrow raised to join the first. "If I correctly comprehend your insidious insinuation," he said slowly, forcing down a chuckle, "You just named your cousin a strumpet." He turned the next page with deliberation.

_Sandecker's going to be furious when he finds out about his boat...Damned Dirk Pitt with his rugged good looks and shiny black hair. He'll get away with it. He always does._

"And you just admitted that you can't get it on!" Sirius barked a laugh.

_"Get it on"? How tactless...But then, you are Sirius...and you'll get away with it. You always do. _

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, glad his face was covered by the book. He had known this topic would surface eventually, he had just wondered when it would happen. Sirius had been teasing him covertly but relentlessly since he'd seen him talking to Tonks at the first Order meeting, a good four weeks ago.

"I said nothing of the sort."

"So, Tonks, eh? She is _quite_ the catch." He waved his spoon around in the air, emphasizing his diatribe. "I mean, if we_ weren't cousins_..." he grinned thoughtfully. "-And if she wasn't so _smitten _with my best mate...put down that Muggle drivel, Moony, I'm trying to have a conversation with you!" He glowered at Remus, spoon pointed menacingly at his face.

_'Smitten?' where does he get his information? And who uses the word 'smitten' anymore?_

"Sirius," Remus gave him a stern look. "First and foremost, it's not drivel...It's historical fiction." He tapped the cover of the book. "And furthermore, if you're going to talk to me, put down the kitchen utensil. You are not high on the list of people I want _spooning_ me, right now."

"Ah, but I bet my cousin is...I bet you'd like that." Sirius shook his head again, grinning like he'd won a prize. "And I know for a fact that you didn't go to bed last night! You waited up for her to get back from that mission!"

"That I did." Remus snapped his book shut. He had waited up, listening a bit too anxiously for her clumsy footsteps out in the hall. He didn't want to admit to Sirius that he was quite fond of Tonks, fond enough to make her a cup of tea when she came in, exhausted, fond enough to let her fall asleep with her head on his shoulder, quite fond enough to carry up to his own room and let her sleep on his bed while he slept in the study.

_That's what any good friend would do...and that's what we are, nothing more, really...Unfortunately._

"Aha! the truth comes out!" Sirius declared triumphantly.

_I'm never going to find out what happens to Eva now..._

"So. Did you two...?" Sirius wiggled his eyebrows and gestured rudely, his bowl of cereal levitated in mid-air.

"No!" He fought back the urge to chuck a book at his friend's mussy-haired head.

_Musn't. Damage. The. Literature. No matter how badly he deserves it..._

"We haven't even- I mean, we're not- we're just friends," he concluded lamely.

_But I'm working on that..._

"Well, you should've. You're awfully snarky today, maybe a good shag would cheer you up. Make you more...bearable." Sirius shrugged, toying with the spoon in his bowl. "For Merlin's sake, be reasonable! She obviously likes you, and I'll get to claim the title of matchmaker. And if she doesn't like you, I can still rail on you about that, so it's good all-around for me." He gave his best Black smirk.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the great advice," Remus shot at him, opening his book again.

A spoonful of soggy cornflakes hit him in the forehead.

"I always pass on good advice, it's the only thing to do with it...never of any use to oneself."

* * *

"Moony is just...Moony, I guess." Sirius poured two cups of tea and slid one down the table to a woman with hot pink hair. "He's a...well, he's alot like you." He passed a plate of toast to her, they were taking a late breakfast.

"What do you mean, he's like me?" Tonks shoveled a ridiculous amount of sugar into her tea and stirred it with fervor.

"You're both a bit...unconventional. Neither of you really fit into a category, per se...Except for the whole shape-shifting freak thing." He winked at her. "A serendipitous coincidence, I'd say. And I know, he seems like a barmy old codger..."

"I don't think he's a barmy old codger!" She shook her pink hair violently. "He's just so...quiet."

"Yeah, he's always been that way, but believe me, there's a delightfully twisted sense of humor in there somewhere, I made sure of that. Remus has always been somewhat...staid. He was always the rather ignored and underappreciated voice of reason in our circle of friends." A sad look flickered over the once-handsome face like a dark shadow. "But I appreciate it now, all the times he said 'Sirius, don't take that job! Sirius, don't marry that harpy!' You know?"

She nodded thoughtfully, watching her tea swirl in circles in the cup.

"What I'm trying to say is, he's not as intimidating as he seems." The black-haired man looked at her intently. "And neither are you. I mean no offense by that, but it's true. You both put a face on for everyone else, that's not a bad thing, sometimes it is necessary. Understandably necessary, for you both." He sighed.

"That makes sense," she said, contemplative. "You're right, but is that enough in common to warrant an attempt at a more- than-platonic relationship?"

"I know I'm right. And I think he said the exact same thing to me about you." Sirius flicked a toast crumb at her. "It may not be the catalyst of a relationship, but it may make it easier for you to understand each other. You have more in common than you think."

She flicked the toast crumb back at him, it skipped into the butter dish.

"He likes you, really. I can tell, I've known him since we were twelve years old. I know how he acts around girls he fancies."

"The same way he acts around everyone else?" She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with a sardonic expression on her face.

"Actually...yes." He said, matter-of-factly.

* * *

There was a rapping of knuckles on the door of the study that night, as Remus was laying on the rug by the fire, absorbed in his Muggle novel once again. He sighed internally.

_What now, Padfoot? More brotherly advice? more cornflakes?..._

"Come in." He said, audibly perturbed at the interruption.

A pale face fringed by magenta hair peeped around the door, eyes sparkling. "Wotcher."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He sat up. "Come on in."

"Are you busy?" She pushed the door open with her foot, carrying two butterbeers in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. "Sirius told me you were up here, he said I should bring you a treat, although I don't know if what I brought constitutes his idea of a 'treat'. Don't get up," she said, as he started to stand. "You looked awfully comfortable, I'm going to sit down there with you."

_Mental Note- Give Sirius a hug. _

She sat cross-legged, awkwardly trying to balance the cake and the drinks. He took both of the butterbeers and opened them, handing her one. She set the cake plate on the floor with trepidation, painfully aware of her clumsy ways.

"I brought the biggest piece that was left," she said, pulling two forks out of her pocket. "But I only wanted to break one plate today...so we'll have to share." He was impressed with her ability to so easily make fun of her own ungainliness. "I should wear one of those Muggle signs...'Accident Free for Twenty Seconds'."

He laughed, stabbing the chocolate cake with his fork. He liked her odd sense of humor, the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. He even liked her garishly orange shirt that said "From Concentrate" across the front, and her sky blue trainers.

"Thanks for taking care of me last night. I was a complete mess, I'm sure." She poked at the cake with a fork. "Here, you take the icing, you like it better than I do...I'm sorry you had to sleep on the couch. I would have, you know, I'm not a pansy." She looked up at him candidly.

"I know. But you know I wouldn't let you."

"I know. Bloody Gryffindors." She grinned at him. "Remus Lupin, proof that chivalry's not dead."

_You'd better get used to it, Nymphadora._

"Ha ha ha." He laughed mockingly, stretching out his legs toward the fire, pushing his book out of the way.

"What are you reading?" She picked it up, flipping through the pages. "Ooh, it's Muggle!"

"It's pretty good. A little wordy." He leaned back on his elbows. "Do you like Muggle things?"

"Oh, yeah." She said, smiling. "I love that stuff. Movies, books, music, gadgets. Actually.." She tugged on a yarn unravelling from the rug, "I studied at a Muggle college..."

He looked at her incredulously.

_How cool is that? Oh Merlin, I just thought the word 'cool'. That's not cool. Crap. _

"Just for two terms, it wasn't much." Tonks shook her head, pink hair flying. "It was for work, back when I was a cadet in Auror training."

"What did you study?" He asked interestedly, and strangely aware of what should've been an unconscious lean toward her.

"A bit of philosophy. Kingsley said I should try to keep my thoughts more agile than my feet. I don't think it took, though...It's been a while, but..." She paused, musing. "The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances."

"Aristotle." He stared into his butterbeer bottle, knowing that it would be a crime against nature if he never acted on his feelings for her.

She nodded. "It defines a few of the men I know."

They sat in silence, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. He set his bottle down on the floor and looked at her, earnestly.

"Tonks, I was wondering," he cleared his throat, "If you wanted to-"

"Sure-" She cut in, grinning.

"But you didn't-" He sat up, frustratedly running a hand through his hair.

"Let you finish? How do you know that I don't know what you were going to ask me?" Her voice lilted coyly.

He stared at her in silence. She smiled gently and took his hand.

"I'd be glad to help you make the best of circumstances." Her hand was warm around his. "But you have to share your cake with me," she added in a serious whisper.

* * *

Reviewers get cake, Aristotle, and a fuzzy rug by the fire to share with the ideal man of their choice.


	3. Conversation Galante

Disclaimer- I own neither the characters nor the poem, should you recognize that...it's one of my favorites! and I thought it appropriate. This episode is based on one of my own dates.

Author's Note- Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome- please review. REVIEW!

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Conversation Galante

A couple walked through the darkened park, brown leaves skittering around their feet and scraping on the cement path. Her arm was linked through his in a chain of battered black leather and threadbare wool; she pulled him an inch closer. That tiny inch makes him feel warm all over, having nothing and everything to do with the fact that they are walking so close that their legs brush, that he can see her pulse in her throat and smell her perfume- chocolate and cinnamon. A crooked smile flickered across his face.

The autumn sky was hanging low over the naked trees- a misty purple streaked with silvery clouds. He pulled her to the side of the path, where a wrought-iron bench was hidden in a stand of young pines.

"I think I like going on dates with you, Moony." The woman laughed, wrapping her hands around a steaming Styrofoam cup as they sat together. She eyed him playfully.

"Is that what we're calling it now, Nymphadora?" Remus Lupin leaned back against the park bench, stretching out his long legs and shaking his brown hair. "And here I was, under the impression that this was just a pizza between friends," he concluded somberly, but with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"-Followed by drinks at a Muggle coffeehouse, and a walk through a moonlit park? Remus, any observant individual would consider this more than just a friendly pizza-sharing excursion." She gave him a smug smile, distractedly twirling a strand of hair around her index finger. "And quit using that awful name! Call me Tonks, for Merlin's sake."

"You consider yourself observant, eh?" He elbowed her in the ribs.

"Vigilant...constantly." She winked at him, taking a sip of tea.

He pulled the collar of his old overcoat higher around his neck, taking in the lovely sight that was Nymphadora Tonks. Her cheeks were tinged from the damp breeze to match her hair, that favorite shade of pink she wore so often. Under her knee-length leather jacket she wore jeans and a black sweater that teasingly bared her pale shoulders. Relatively, she was dressed up, though she still wore her favorite, clunky Doc Martens. It _would appear _to be a date, albeit unofficial, unorthodox, and following a guard patrol; he knew it, she knew it. He had become rather partial to the feisty young Auror and her cracked sense of humor. They had been spending more and more time together, their names were always mysteriously paired together on the Order's duty rosters. He had his suspicions about the identity of the party responsible for meddling with the roster, but left it alone, attributing it to the fact that they worked well together and someone had noticed.

_Mental note- Give Sirius a hug. And a bottle of Ogden's. And a party. A big party._

She had volunteered to pick up dinner tonight, and he reluctantly let her, insisting on the cheapest pizza place he knew. " Oh, I _love_ that place! They have the best cheese and onion! And the pepperoni is pretty good, too." Her nose had wrinkled in that peculiar way he liked so much as she took his arm and led him across the street, tripping on a pothole.

"If this isn't the type of "date" you go on, what is? Please, do tell." His fingers hooked the air around the word 'date', and he raised an eyebrow at her, smirking. The wind whipped her hair around her face wildly.

"I- but..Hmph. It's mostly pub-crawling, drinking and dancing type things." She shrugged, tugging a hand through her tangled hair. "Rather childish and unromantic, I am aware. What about you?"

"What about me? Oh, the dating thing. Hmmm...it's been a while. The endeavor has never proved fruitful, obviously, taking into account that I lack the necessary funds. And that I'm old. And homely. " He laughed halfheartedly.

" _Funds_, Remus?_ Homely?_ That's tosh. _Old?_ Give yourself some credit for a change." She snorted. "So, it's been a while, then?"

"About two, three years." He enjoyed the way she humorously pried her way into his personal life.

"Oh, right. That thing at Hogwarts." She nodded sympathetically. "Well, _that_ whole bit's okay with me. You know that, right?"

"I know. Bloody Hufflepuffs. Too damn open and accepting for their own good," he said churlishly. She punched him in the arm.

"Hey! I am not!" She said, perturbed. "I hate spaghetti! And I don't like the Spice Girls, either."

"What kind of a person doesn't like-" He paused as she eyed him menacingly. "-Spaghetti?"

"Good thing you didn't say 'the Spice Girls', Remus. I would've had to sell you to Umbridge." Her fluffy pink head rested on his shoulder, and he put an arm around her, on the pretense of keeping her warm.

_You're a selfish git, Moony. _

"Ah yes, the deplorable Spice Girls, that troop of scarlet women. Imagine what Molly would say." He laughed, pulling her a tiny bit closer. He had no idea what he was doing at night in a park with a girl twelve years younger than him, why he was trying to hold on to her so tightly. It made no logical sense at all, but at any rate, he felt happier than he had in months. No matter how illogical it seemed, when she was around, he didn't feel like he was fighting in vain anymore. Sometimes it didn't feel like they were even at war.

She had tried to explain their friendship to him one night in the study, that they were better friends because they were so different than the rest. She had noticed that even some of the Order members unconsciously avoided both of them. "Who can I talk to besides you, anyways, Moony? I don't have friends outside the Order, anymore. And these people are more like...colleagues." She had said the word with disgust.

"I know."

"So you and I should stick together!" The hug she had given him felt like it could have lasted for days, like the feeling of her head on his shoulder as they sat in the peaceful park.

"Nymphadora, what kind of perfume do you wear?" He asked her, abandoning his reminiscing.

"Oh, erm, I don't remember what it's called." She rubbed her neck self-consciously. "Ginny and Hermione sent it to me for my birthday..."

_Mental note part two- Warn Ron and Harry. Those miniature women are deceptively cunning._

"Mmm-hmm. It's very...nice." He leaned down, intentionally sniffing her neck like a dog. "Chocolate, is it?" She tried to scoot away but he caught her with one arm, tickling her with the other and snuffling in her ear. She flailed and squirmed and giggled, trying to push him away.

"Yes-", she growled. "-Bloody! Quit tickling! Very astute observation-" She prised his fingers off her ribs. "-You git." She glared at him from behind her tangled hair. He smirked at her, leaning back on the park bench, his arms behind his head, and for a second he reminded himself oddly of Sirius.

"Astute?" He snorted a laugh. " What a word, Tonks." He stared up at the sky, watching the silver clouds drift over the crescent moon. "I don't like it."

"You don't like what?" Her voice was as rich as any vault in Gringotts, he could live off it forever.

"Our sentimental friend, the moon," he quoted. "Or possibly (fantastic, I confess), it may be Prester John's balloon."

She laughed softly, leaning into him.

"Or an old battered lantern hung aloft, to light poor travellers to their distress. She then-"

A dark cloud floated lazily across the glowing sliver of satellite.

_Damned moon._

"'-How you digress." The voice whispering in his ear was worryingly close, pleasantly close. He turned his head to look at her and abruptly found himself sitting up, unable to control the hand that was pushing the tangled pink strands from her face.

"Dora..."

"Don't call me Dora, Remus." Her breath was warm on his cheek, mist on the cold air.

"Okay." His other hand found her cheek of its own volition, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. He pulled her closer.

_What the hell am I doing?_

He leaned his forehead against hers.

"Dora..."

_What am I doing? What am I doing?_

"Shut up, Remus."

"Okay."

He took her pale, moonlit face in his hands and kissed her, everything around them melting into a misty blur. She sighed and the sound made his heart race. Her lips tasted like tea and sugar and he kissed her harder, felt her pulse quicken under his hand as he bit her lip gently. She gasped with her mouth still against his, her hands slipped from the collar of his coat to the back of his neck, down his chest as she kissed him. Her lips dropped to his neck, warm and wet, her fingers tracing his collarbone.

_Holy fuck. _

He stifled a moan, his skin felt like it was on fire. Tonks leaned her head against him, her cheek hot on his shoulder.

_Well, our friendship is effectively ruined... _

They sat in the silent park for a few moments, she slipped her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, catching his breath, pulling her arms from around him and pushing her away gently.

"Why?" Her fingers laced through his.

_Dammit, Tonks, don't you know why?_

"I...shouldn't have done that." He untangled her fingers from his own.

"Why not?" She wrapped her arms around his neck again.

"Because, you're- and I- it's a bit ridiculous, don't you think?" A sigh escaped him, and in a valiant effort to dislodge her from around his neck they both fell from bench to the pine-scented ground.

"And why shouldn't it be ridiculous? I mean, _look_ at me!" She continued as if they hadn't fallen from a park bench, pointing to herself, and then turned the accusatory finger on him. "And _you_! You quote vague T.S. Eliot poems to vulnerable young women in a park in the middle of the night! How is that not ridiculous? And is it so wrong if I enjoy it? I think not." She huffed, crossing her arms and glowered at him, sitting across his knees.

"You don't think that this could get...strange?"

_Any stranger than you sitting on my legs, on the ground, in a park, in the middle of the night, after I snog you, telling me how ridiculous I am, which I am already quite aware of?_

"Oh, it will." She stood up and straightened her jacket. "Already has, from the looks of things."

"And you are okay with that?" He stared up at her, wishing she was still on the ground with him.

"Yes." She took his hand and pulled him up.

"Werewolf." The only word he could think of as stared down at her, fighting the urge to pick her up and kiss her again.

"Walk us home, Mr. Lupin." She said rolled her eyes, linking her arm through his once again. "And if you are going to protest, do me the honor of making a valid effort. Simply stating 'Werewolf' and assuming I will run away in terror is a feeble ploy, considering how little the fact bothers me."

She stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. His face burned where her lips touched him.

"As you wish."

They walked through the park, crossing the street to 12 Grimmauld Place. He took her hand, guiding her carefully around the umbrella stand in the hall. The last thing he wanted was Sirius Black alerted to his extra-dishevelled, scruffy, presence.

"Walk me to my room, will you?" She whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"Okay." Still clasping her hand, they walked up the stairs to the room she occupied on meeting nights and after guard duty. She stopped him at the door, her hands left his own to hold the lapels on his coat.

"Are you alright, Moony?" She stood in front of him, so close that the toes of her boots touched the toes of his shoes.

"Yeah." He stared down at her. "I was just thinking."

"What are you thinking?" She moved a fraction of an inch closer to him, and somehow he found his hands on her again.

"That you never let me finish my poem."

"Remus, dear, it was by your own account that it went unfinished." She stared up at him, her voice husky. "But if you wish to continue, by all means do so now."

He pushed her against the door, an arm around her waist and a hand through her hair, their bodies pressed against each other.

'You, madam," he whispered against her neck, "Are the eternal humorist, the eternal enemy of the absolute."

Her arms found their way around him under his coat, her fingers holding his shirt.

"Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist," he continued with some difficulty trying to recall the next line, "With your air indifferent and imperious. At a stroke our mad poetics to confute...'' He caught her lips with his own, kissing her furiously, at a loss to the rest of the verse.

''And- 'are we then so serious?'.'' She laughed softly, as her hands caught his shirt collar and pulled him down, kissing him gently. "You skipped an entire stanza, Remus." Tonks opened the door behind her back and stepped through it. "Goodnight." She smirked and shut the door.

"That I did. My apologies," He nodded at the dark-stained oak dazedly. "Goodnight, Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that!" A stern, muffled voice followed him as he turned to leave.

"Okay."

He stumbled down the hallway, sitting on the top stair.

He rubbed his jaw, noting that his hands smelled like her hair.

_Damn moon._

* * *

Review por favor! Gracias!


	4. Sublime

Disclaimer- The characters belong to someone that obviously isn't me. Yeah. Bummer deal, man.

Author's Note- Tonks likes to sing nineties alt-rock. Remus has ridiculous pajamas and a furry little problem.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Sublime

"I heard you crying loud," a feminine voice was singing to a song heavy with electric guitars. He walked down the hall, tugging on the hem of his faded polo shirt to get the wrinkles out. "All the way across town! You've been searching for that someone, and it's me out on the prowl, as you sit around feeling sorry for yourself."

He leaned against the kitchen door, watching the source of the operatics; a woman with waist-length violet hair, dancing clumsily and drumming the air with a wand and a spoon.

"Well, don't get lonely now! And dry your whining eyes!" She abandoned her air-drum solo to stir a cup of tea, pausing when she almost used the wand instead of the spoon. "I'm just roaming for the moment, sleazin' my back yard, so don't get so uptight you been thinking about ditching me."

Remus Lupin stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his pants, torn between watching her silently and sneaking up behind her to determine just how constantly vigilant she truly was.

It had been almost two weeks since they had been on the "date", and he was still unsure where he stood on the issue. He wanted her, wanted to be with her, thought about her constantly, and he knew she felt the same. He just couldn't get past the nagging voice that told him how she could do so much better, and then that other sickening thought-

_What if you lose her like you lost everyone else?_

She, on the other hand, was neither pretending like it hadn't happened, nor trying to press the matter, and it was rather unnerving. In fact, she was acting just as she had before, being her cheerful, friendly, incredible self. She didn't ignore him, she didn't come onto him. If anything, she talked to him more openly, left her hand on his shoulder just a bit longer, hugged him tighter.

"No time to search the world around, 'cause you know where I'll be found, when I come around!" She tossed her hair, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Tea, Remus? You know, it's not polite to sneak up on people."

"Tea? Yes please, Nymphadora." He sat down at the table and flipped through the pages of the Daily Prophet that lay there, discarded by its previous reader.

"Don't call me that." She poured hot water into a mug, rolling her eyes.

"I'll call you what I want, Nymphadora," He said gravely to his newspaper, holding in a laugh..

"Whatevs. Sugar?"

"Don't call me that."

_Ha._

A lump of sugar crash-landed on the top of his head like a tiny, crystalline asteroid.

"You were watching me. Don't try and deny it." She popped a sugar cube in her mouth and licked her lips, staring him down. He felt his eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

_Okay. That...explains alot. And it was not cute, or sexy, or anything. Not one single, tiny bit..._

"I...was listening. You have a nice singing voice." Another bit of sugar pelted him as he looked down at the paper. "Like Carly Simon."

She shot him a disbelieving look as she sat on the table top, then pulled the newspaper out of his hands, replacing it with a warm cup of tea. Her hands wrapped around his and stayed there, the funny way she smiled at him was half aggravating, half endearing. Her long legs dangled off the edge of the table, her thigh just inches from his fingers. Pale skin peeked through a huge rip in her jeans.

_Okay. Just relax. _

"Why don't you ever say what you're thinking?" She questioned him abruptly, as if she already knew what he was thinking.

"Most people wouldn't want to know what goes on in the mind of a Dark Creature."

Her fingertips traced his a scar on the back of his hand.

"That's rubbish, that 'Dark Creature' bullshit." She shook her head. "You're a nice bloke as far as I can tell...as far as you'll let me tell." Her voice had an adamant tone he had never heard before. She smiled again, ruffling his hair affectionately, sending a cloud of sugar-asteroid dust settling on the table. She took her tea and left, he heard her curse softly as she tripped over the carpet in the hall.

"A word, Lupin." A voice drawled, and he looked up from staring into the depths of his tea to see a dark robed figure standing in the doorway opposite him.

"Good morning, Severus." He had no hatred for the man, Sirius hated him enough for the both of them.

"So it would seem." He pulled a firewhiskey bottle from his robes and set it on the table. "Wolfsbane- it had to appear otherwise, of course."

"I'm much obliged." Remus noticed the odd smirk on his former classmate's face.

_Shite. I wonder how long he's been standing there..._

Snape studied him, an out-of-place smile on his pallid face, then turned and walked away, disapparating with a crack at the front door.

He took a sip of his tea. It tasted just like her lips had, sitting on the park bench across the street.

_Damn._

Twelve hours later, he was in the barren, dusty attic of the house of Black, rolling the empty bottle on the floor between his hands. He sat with his legs crossed, under a window flooded orange from the setting sun. His skin already felt too tight for his body. He had lived through four hundred and thirty-seven full moons, tonight was number four hundred thirty-eight. Of course, forty-six or so of those had been previous to the bite he received from Fenrir Greyback, he had calculated the number of moons once during his third year at Hogwarts, and had been keeping track ever since.

His head felt like it was being split with a dull axe, accompanied by the ill feeling of every sound being amplified, the nausea from sensory overload.

_You should be used to this by now..._

He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over a broken chair, sitting in the ridiculous pair of pajama bottoms Sirius had presented him on his birthday- dark blue with tiny cows jumping over moons_. _They seemed more like something Nymphadora would wear. For a moment, he wildly imagined Tonks in the silly pajamas, her pink hair mussed. The throbbing in his head intensified, but he was already thinking about that night in the park, how close they had been sitting, how warm she was, how they kissed.

_She doesn't know what she wants to be involved with._

His mind started to cloud with pain as the moon rose in the window. It was violent, even with the potion he drank, but he didn't lose control of his thoughts even though it felt like he was being skinned alive. Tonight, he wished he didn't have to think.

_You can't put her through this. This is your problem, not hers._

It was worse torture, to feel close to death and be so clear of mind.

* * *

A soft, cool hand on his forehead woke him up from a nightmare about a wolf.

_No, that wasn't a nightmare. That really happened. It's happened before. It will happen again soon enough..._

"Hey, Moony..." The voice was sweet and familiar, dragging out his nickname as if to make it a question.

"Hmm?" He found himself downstairs in his room, in his own four poster bed, stretched out on his stomach, face pressed against a pillow. The bed sank, springs creaking, as someone sat down on it next to him.

"You awake?" The hand brushed his hair off his forehead gently, and he opened his eyes. A pale, pretty face frowned solicitously down at him.

"Dora-" He tried to sit up, feeling like he'd been hit by the Knight Bus.

"No, lay down." Her hands pushed him back gently."Sirius brought you down here, said you were a bit scratched up, I brought you some stuff-"

"I'll be alright-"

"I know you will."

"Dora, you don't have to-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." She kicked off her boots, bringing her purple-stockinged feet up on the bed to sit next to him. "I was worried about you." She ran her fingers through his hair. "God, you're all torn up." Her hands found the edge of the blanket and tugged.

"Oi! Don't, I- naked!" His voice was half-muffled by the pillow, his fingers fumbled for the hem of the blanket, too weak to protest further. His whole body ached.

"Naked, eh? Don't worry, I'll be professional." He could hear a smile in her voice.

He grinned lazily, mumbling, "You're a professional? Do I get a discount?"

"Shut up, Remus." Tonks said, poking him in the arm.

She pulled the blanket down to his hips, the air in the room was cold and he shivered. A thin finger traced one of the dozen gashes that ran across his back and arms, crisscrossed over old scars. "Hmm." She flicked her wand absently toward the fireplace and the room no longer felt like the inside of a refrigerator. Her weight shifted next to him, and he felt her hands on his back again, rubbing something both warm and ice-cold into his shoulders.

It felt strange to lay in bed, naked but for a blanket, reluctantly letting the girl he fancied tend to his injuries. He felt a bit self-conscious, a little turned-on, but for the most part he still felt like he'd fallen from a broom and was then trampled by a herd of angry riotous centaurs.

"What are you doing?" Her hands smelled of alcohol and some kind of flower.

"Making you better." She shook a little bottle at him. "This is some pain-killer stuff Dad concocted. We keep a good sized store of it, he's as clumsy as I am. It's mostly vodka and like, chamomile or something. Dad is a potions freak."

"That explains the smell. Will it get me drunk by osmosis?"

He laughed weakly. Her hands were warm on his back, or maybe it was the potion, or maybe it was all in his head. He oddly remembered the occasion Lily Evans had doctored him after a transformation, while James and Sirius were hurriedly casting protective wards over their house. "You need a girl, honey. Somebody to take care of you if you can't." "Girls don't like werewolves, Lil'." "You'll find somebody, I'm sure." She had ruffled his hair in that same kindly way that Tonks did. "I just hope she's good enough for _you_."

"We can only hope." She snickered. "This may sting a bit." Her fingers followed the lacerations over his ribs. He watched her from the corner of his eye, taking note of the concerned look on her face. She knelt next to him on the bed, her pink hair falling in her eyes as she leaned over him.

"I like your shirt."

She was wearing her usual artfully- shredded jeans, but today her shirt was close fitting and plain white, with a single word written boldly across the front, in an area he thought rather appropriate for such a word.

"You listen to Sublime."

"No...?" He felt drowsy, and warm, and almost comfortable.

She flopped down on her stomach next to him, folding her arms and resting her chin in the crook of her elbow. Her dark eyes smiled at him.

"I'm glad you like it."

"I thought it was describing you, Nymphadora."

"Oh. Well aren't you sweet?"

"Like sugar." He mumbled sleepily to his pillow, smiling.

"Yes, exactly like sugar. Want to take a nap?"

"Sure." She tucked the blanket back around his shoulders, then gently pulled him into her arms, his back against her chest.

"But- hey. We're not- and you keep on-" Tonks leaned her head on him, her smooth cheek against his stubbled one.

"-Shut up, Remus." She held him tighter. "Now go to sleep, dammit."

"Fine." He sighed, closing his eyes, drowsily willing himself not to kiss her, or push her off the bed in a fit of annoyance.

He woke later that evening, quite alone, so he scrounged a pair of khakis and a jumper out of his trunk and dressed. Sirius was in the parlor, nursing a bottle of Ogden's. He cast Remus an appraising look.

"Hey, he lives!" Padfoot raised his bottle in a toast. "She's a nutter." He nodded toward the kitchen door.

_"Early in the morning, risin' to the street,  
Light me up that cigarette and I strap shoes on my feet.  
Got to find a reason, a reason things went wrong...  
Got to find a reason why my money's all gone-  
I got a Dalmation, and I can still get high.  
I can play the guitar like a motherfucking riot."_

She was in the kitchen, singing and playing an air-guitar solo on a broom. He stood in the doorway and watched her, grinning.

_"Well, life's too short, so love the one you got-  
'Cause you might get run over or you might get shot..  
Never start no static I just get it off my chest-.  
Never had to battle with no bulletproof vest  
Take a small example, take a tip from me  
Take all of your money, give it all to charity  
Love is what I got, it's within my reach..."_

"What's this?"

She pointed at her chest.

"It's Sublime." She leaned the broom against the table and paused to pat him on the cheek as she walked by.

"Well, I could've told you that."

* * *

Reviews please!

Reviewers get a nap with a cute sleepy werewolf and a chance to play Guitar Hero with Tonks. She'll kick your ass.


	5. Tripped on the Urge to Feel Alive

Disclaimer- Suffice it to say that my general appearance and demeanor would not give one the impression that I am the author of a series of best-selling novels. It is safe to assume that I am not:)

Author's Note- This fic is dedicated to my seriously Sirius muse. He has run afoul of that which vexes all men, and is leaving me for the coast soon. But it's cool. The title is a lyric from 'Semi-Charmed Life' by Third Eye Blind.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

We Tripped On the Urge to Feel Alive

"Hey, Moony." The unkempt man in a wing back chair put his feet up on an ottoman, balancing a full glass of firewhiskey in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. He wore a gold paper crown askew atop messy black hair, and a sly grin on his face.

"What?" Another man sighed, sitting with legs crossed on the dusty carpet. He held a bottle by the neck, leaning back against the sofa. Tired blue eyes fixed his companion with a skeptical stare, but his mouth curved in a smile.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Neither!"

"But, Moony...It's my birthday." His voice took on a mock-hurt tone as he pointed emphatically toward the crown on his head. "It's not too late, it's only..." He looked at his watch. "Two o'clock."

"Fine, then. Truth."

_It seems the quality of entertainment has deteriorated far more quickly than I had expected. _

Sirius Black gave him a devious look, rubbing a hand over chin.

"Is it true that you, Professor Lupin, once consumed nearly an entire bottle of absinthe and were dared by James Potter to run naked past the cottage of one Bathilda Bagshot, in the snow?"

_And just when I had finally succeeded in blocking _that_ from my memory._

"What!" The woman on the couch turned again to look at them both in shock. She lay on her back on the sofa, her blue-black hair flowed over the cushions, ending in curls just inches above the floor. "Did you?"

Nymphadora Tonks was sporting her 'vintage' rock and roll look today, in honor of Sirius; long black hair, a snug fitting 'The Who' shirt and jeans that were split up the back of her legs to just above her knees. Her fingers were clutching a glass that sat on her chest, leaving a ring of condensation around the silk-screened visage of Pete Townshend. She was always pretty, but especially so in the glowing light from the fireplace. For a few seconds he toyed with the idea of leaving the room and locking himself in the study for the remainder of the evening, she annoyed him so. Remus stared at his shoes, feeling somewhere between infatuated with her and infuriated at her.

_Just don't look at her, or listen to her, or think about her, or sit near her, and you'll be fine..._

"I- uh. Shut up, Padfoot." He stared down the neck of his half-empty bottle of butterbeer like it was a microscope, as if he were trying to find the cure for inebriated birthday celebrations in the dregs of his drink."Don't pay any attention to him, Dora. He's drunk." She laughed that bright, rowdy laugh he loved so much.

_So much for that plan..._

It wasn't her presence that ground on his nerves so cruelly, it was the way she acted when she was around him. She was so nonchalant and easy-going around him, affectionate to that limit they had unconsciously set, which he hated with a passion. He had his reasons for abolishing the limit, but there were more logical reasons for staying on the safe side, and logic was the one thing he always had, even if he didn't have a paying job, or Galleons in the bank, or a place to live.

"Drunk? Am not," came the indignant reply, followed by the tinkling of ice in a glass. "Okay, maybe a little."

"Come on now, Remus. Did you do it?" She looked at him upside-down from the sofa, eyes wide and expectant.

He nodded slowly.

_Yeah, and it was damn cold outside, too._

"Ha! That's hilarious!" She sat up, laughing much too loudly to be completely sober. "You went streaking through Godric's Hollow?"

He nodded again. "That would be correct. I don't recommend it, especially in winter. Truth or Dare, Nymphadora."

"What? Dare." She gave him a look of suspicious scrutiny. "No wait, Truth! Yeah. Am I allowed to change my mind? I forgot the rules."

"We're going by Gryffindor Common Room rules." Another clink of ice and crystal sounded over the crackling of the fire.

"Which means?" Tonks raised a hand in question, sipping from her own glass. She slid her legs off the couch and sat on the floor next to Remus.

"No-holds-barred Truth or Dare. You can ask or dare whatever you want, but should the asked or dared person refuse to answer or perform the dare, there will be severe consequences and repercussions." Sirius barked a laugh.

"Consequences and repercussions?" She laughed.

"Yes. Do you want your dare now?"

"Sure." She shrugged, bright eyed and smiling.

"Alright, then. I dare you," He said softly, taking a swig of butterbeer, "To show us what you look like when you haven't morphed."

"Yeah! Do it! Do it!" Sirius' cake slid off the plate and hit the floor with a squelch. He glanced at the cake bemusedly and flicked his wand at it, vanishing it from the carpet.

"Okay." She shot Remus an apprehensive glance. In an instant, her hair was a soft brown and shoulder length, and her features resembled those of the Black family more than ever. Her eyes were still the same indiscernable dark color they usually were.

"Merlin, you look just like your mother." Sirius coughed through his firewhiskey, giving her a curious look.

She glanced around the room, nervously turning her glass round and round in her hands.

"Your mother must be absolutely stunning." Remus said, staring at her, and try as he may to look at the floor, he found it quite impossible. She stared back at him, then shook her head, resuming her previous appearance. Black curls obscured her face, blocking any visible emotion. The silence that crept into the room quieted even the crackling of the fire.

"I'm going to get more booze." Sirius blurted, jumping up. "You want-"

"-On the rocks."

"-Neat, please."

Padfoot dashed into the kitchen, looking relieved.

"You're beautiful, you know." He didn't know how he was speaking at all, his throat felt so tight.

"No use in lying, it's not going to get you anything...Nothing I wouldn't give you anyways." Her voice was low and icy as she stood and stalked out of the room.

_Nothing you wouldn't give me anyways? What the hell is that supposed to...oh._

* * *

"Opportunity does not knock, then knock again, then leave a note saying "Sorry, I missed you." Sirius sat on the kitchen table, swinging his legs back and forth. He had abandoned the glass and was now drinking directly from the bottle. "I don't think you really understand what you could have, here."

"No, I do. And you've got it wrong, I _fully_ understand what I _can't_ have, here."

"Don't start pulling that martyr shit on me, I know who you are." Sirius gave him a smirk. "My eyesight's as good as ever, just so you know. I've seen you two together, she worships you, and you follow her around like a... a dog." Sirius made an apologetic face.

"Yeah, she adores _this _me, not the one who has to lock himself in the cellar every few weeks so that he won't kill her, you, and everyone else on the block." Remus sat in a kitchen chair backwards, arms folded across the neck rest, his own bottle of firewhiskey in a white-knuckled grip.

"I don't think that really matters to her, that's not how she thinks of you."

"It should matter."

"It's never mattered to me, you know that."

"That's fine, but I've never wanted to shag _you..._" His voice fell flat.

"Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to." Sirius grinned at him through the bottle.

"Don't quote Oscar Wilde to me, you drunken bastard."

"I don't see where being a werewolf would have any adverse affects on the, ahem, physical aspects of a relationship."

"It's not just that." He sighed heavily.

"I know, I know, I know." Sirius took a long drink from the bottle. "You can't get a job, you don't have any money, and you turn kind of furry every so often. Big effing deal. Take a look at the bright side, will you? You have me, of course. Harry, too." Sirius counted on his fingers. "You have the Order. A place to live. Plenty of alcohol." He shook the bottle at Remus, its depleted contents splashed around inside the glass. "Oh, and a crazy-ass pink-haired witch that doesn't care if you're poor, _or_ furry, _or _angsty, and would probably do you right here, right now, on the kitchen table, if that's what you wanted. The pros seem to negate the cons with room to spare." He nodded sagely.

"You don't think its-"

"Hey Jude, what are you worried about, your looks? I've always thought you were foxy. Lots of people think so. Molly Weasley thinks so."

"Oh, Merlin."

Sirius bit his lip thoughtfully. "Ginny Weasley thinks so, too."

"That's not making me feel any better!"

"You know what'll make us feel better? Getting drunk and blaming other people for our problems." Sirius grinned. "I'm blaming Bellatrix and Kreacher, you're going to have to pick someone else."

"I'm blaming you."

"Birthday." He pointed towards his paper crown smugly.

"Fine, then. I'll blame your mother." He growled.

"Good choice." Sirius said brightly.

"I'm going to bed."

"No you're not. You're going to apologize to Tonksy for pissing her off because you can't handle the thought of her being mad at you and then you're going to sit in the study and sulk." He nodded in agreement with himself.

Remus shot his best friend a withering look and stormed out of the kitchen, wondering if he had always been so transparent, or if Sirius had learned Legilimency while in prison.

* * *

After searching the first and second floors and finding no sign of the auror, he reluctantly resigned himself to the study. He slammed the door open wide. The room was darkened but for the fire, and on the sofa before it sat Tonks, elbows on her knees, face in her hands.

"I'm sorry."

"It's cool." She said through her hands.

He sat down next to her.

"I wanted to apologize." He could almost hear Sirius' barking laugh. "I didn't mean to, uh..."

_What did I do?_

She shrugged, finally looking up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

_Oh my god, I made her cry..._

"I'm really sorry." He moved closer to her, taking her hand in his own.

"You're always sorry." Her voice was sad, and he knew she was right. He was forever apologizing, even for things he hadn't done, situations he had no control over.

"I know." He nodded.

"You don't have to be."

"So I've been told." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap.

"Remus-" Her eyes were wide.

"I would never lie to you, Dora."

"You don't think less of me for always pretending to be something else?" She whispered, leaning her head against him.

"Only if you won't think less of me for what I can't change about myself."

"Bollocks to that." He felt her smile against his shoulder.

"I agree." He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead gently.

* * *

A tap on his shoulder woke him and he looked up to see a grinning, grey-eyed face floating above him.

"Not sulking, I see? Best birthday present ever!" A voice whispered, a hand ruffled Remus' brown hair roughly. A drowsy, puzzled look settled on his face. The hair-rumpling hand pointed to the girl that was still sleeping in his arms.

"Oh. Right." She snuggled closer to him and mumbled something incoherent against his chest, her dark hair streaked through with an electric pink.

Sirius Black nodded his approval, then turned and slipped out of the room just as the first rays of morning light hit the windowpanes.

* * *

Reviewers get to share birthday whiskey with Sirius Black and a snuggle with Remus on the sofa.


	6. This is the Sound of Settling

Disclaimer- I don't own anything, but I can and will pretend I do for a while.

Author's Note:This is for MrsTater, Godricgal, and Gilpin, Flo M Nimo, and Shadowlark71 because they are BAMFs, no lie.  
You guys rock.  
Back to the story: Dora doesn't _really_ smoke, just like I don't _really_ smoke (unless the registrar is threatening to kick me out of college again, or the band is gigging at a dive). Forgive me my music freakyweirdness, as I forgive those who do music freakyweirdness against me...lead me not to The Temptations, but deliver me from Emo, for thine is the Pink Hair, and the Doc Martens, and the Cute Werewolf, forever and ever, amen.  
Oh yeah, title is from Death Cab for Cutie.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

This is the Sound of Settling

A young woman sat in a grove of pines, huddled into a corner of a wrought-iron park bench, nervously tapping a combat-boot clad foot on icy concrete. The golden swath of light from the streetlamp above cut through the dark and glittered on the flakes swirling around her, setting the scene for some punk-rock snowglobe. Fingers groped in a pocket of her leather jacket, reappearing with a battered pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Her hands fumbled as she attempted to light one, turning her back against the wind.

"Here." A tall man in a patched overcoat sat down next to her, taking both from her trembling hands. The burst of flame from the lighter illuminated his face, the spark catching in blue-grey eyes sharply contrasted by the black shadow that fell under a fringe of dark hair. He took a drag, then held her hand in his, slipping the cigarette between her fingers. The red glow clung to the curves of her features as she inhaled. "I didn't know you smoked, Dora."

Her lips parted in a sigh, a cloud of mingled smoke and misty breath. "I didn't know it either." She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. He gave her a gentle smile as she moved closer to him on the bench, putting an arm around her thin shoulders. "Arthur is going to be okay, I just saw Molly."

"Thank god." She dropped her face into her hands, dangerously close to igniting a strand of pink-tipped brown hair. "I couldn't look at Ginny anymore, Remus, I just couldn't."

Another secret insecurity, and he was certain that not many knew the reason she had fled from the house at the sight of the Weasley children, the four pale faces with jaws set in silent panic. He had barely been able to face the children himself, especially Ginny, who had pleaded with him to "find Tonks and make her come back, she'll listen to you." She was the only one among the group whose expression did not betray outright dread for the worst; instead it was a hard gaze that he was unable to read.

"It's alright, she's fine now." He pulled a slightly squashed bar of chocolate from his pocket and broke it in half. "Here." She gave a tiny smile, taking a piece. The distraught expression on her face had shifted to one of sheer relief. "Are _you _going to be okay?" He took her chin in his hand, staring into her dark eyes. She had been one of the first on the scene to find Arthur at the Ministry, covered in blood and on the brink of death. Remus had spotted her trailing despondently behind Kingsley as they apparated to headquarters, the knees and shins of her jeans soaked through and stained crimson. The sight of her had made his stomach turn. He knew she was fond of the Weasleys, of Arthur, who had helped her out at the Ministry since she before started Auror training, and especially of Ginny, who she had claimed as a little sister.

_Who do they think taught her that Bat-Bogey hex, anyway?_

"I'll be fine." Tonks smiled and toyed distractedly with the button on the cuff of his coat, then wrapped her fingers around his wrist. He wondered if she was thinking about the same thing he was- the last time they had sat together on the park bench. He traced her jaw with his thumb. The heavy sigh he was holding back found its way out into the cold air and he abruptly dropped his hand from her face. His relationship with Nymphadora had evolved into something comfortable but difficult to define; there was more affection and intimacy in the way she would hold his hand or ruffle his hair than he had ever known from any other girl, but it ended there, with an occasional peck on the cheek.

"Do you want to-"

"Go back in and have some cocoa? It's damn cold out here. Unless you'd rather go streaking." Her eyes darted to his, glinting with trouble.

"Uh, not particularly. Haven't had enough to drink this evening to warrant that kind of behavior." He grinned, taking her hand to help her up. She laughed, dropped the cigarette and ground it to ash with the toe of her boot. "Are you going to stay with m- I mean us, tonight?"

_Oops_.

"I guess, if y- I mean, if it's not any trouble." The corners of her eyes smiled, but she looked straight ahead as they traipsed through an ankle-deep drift of snow in the middle of the street.

"It's never trouble."

Remus slid an arm around her waist as they walked up the steps, and when she slipped on a patch of ice, he caught her, holding her tightly against his chest. Her eyes darted up at him, wide in fright as the door creaked open. He froze, it had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

_Damn._

"Wotcher, Gin." Tonks said cheerfully, unmoving but for a sideways glance toward the entrance. Ginny Weasley gave them an unreadable look, eyes quickly roaming over their awkward position, then smiled widely and shut the door.

_Oh, shit._

Remus slowly released her and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. Tonks doubled over in a fit of giggles.

"The look," she gasped for air between laughs, "On your face was priceless! That was so funny! Oh my god, that was hilarious!"

"Was not!" He shook his head indignantly, staring at the icy stone porch. "Now she probably thinks we were out here snogging or something."

"So what if she thinks it?" Tonks snickered. "Let's go inside." She stuck her hand in his coat pocket, and twined her fingers through his.

"Dora?"

"Yeah, what?"

"You're very pretty when you laugh. Even if it's at me." He grinned at her.

"Oh, shut it."

"I mean it."

She pulled his hand out of his pocket and led him inside, blushing. In the shadows of the hallway she seized him by the collar of his coat and kissed him clumsily, then turned and stumbled up the staircase as fast as she could go. He didn't see her again until the next evening.

* * *

"So _you're_ the perpetrator! the thief! the git who stole my stereo from the kitchen!"

"Um, I guess so?" The door to Remus' room had been flung open, and in the hall stood two women, one pink-haired with her hands on her hips, the other a red-headed, diminutive version of the first. He was laying across his bed on his stomach, bare feet in the air, reading and listening to her music collection, which he had commandeered earlier in the day. The Arthur-charmed Muggle stereo in question was now sitting on a bookshelf opposite the bed, along with a stack of plastic c.d. cases nearly two feet high.

"I can get you carted off to Azkaban for that."

"Actually, _you_could get sent to Azkaban for _that_." He looked over his book at her, pointing at the stereo. "Just remind me to have Sirius tattoo his escape-route on my arm the next time I decide to abscond with your personal belongings."

"Yeah, well. I've heard how you two are so handy with maps." She sighed. "And I was going to teach Ginny the dance that got me banned from the Valentines Day Ball at Hogwarts. You better not've gotten my albums out of synch. They go in a specific order. I mean it. Dire consequences."

"There's no Valentines Ball at Hogwarts," Ginny looked up at Tonks confusedly.

"Not anymore, there isn't." The tone of her voice and look on her face was an indication that this was, in all likelihood, her fault. "That's beside the point. If you're listening, Moony, go right ahead. I fancy a bath, anyway. What _are_ you listening to? The Chili Peppers? You would." She snickered. "What do you think?"

"I think a bath sounds nice. First one there gets to use the soap without dog hair on it, I'll give you a five second headstart." He looked back down at his copy of 'The Time Machine', fighting a devilish grin.

Ginny laughed, and walked away shaking her head. Tonks skipped over to his bed and plopped down next to him, her head tilted to the side.

"I meant the Peppers, you git. Yes, the infamous 'Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magik' record. I'd have thought you'd like 'One Hot Minute'."

"I've already listened to that." He grinned at his book. "This one is better, I think."

"Well. Okay." She gave him a skeptical smirk. "I'm off to the tub, then, since you'd rather be self-educated in the world of modern rock. It's a dangerous realm- you should have an auror specializing in the subject with you at all times, so that you don't make rash decisions, like purchasing a vintage Flaming Lips album for your snooty blonde-haired vixen instead of handing it over to the _proper_ authorities." She gave a cough that sounded oddly like 'Bill Weasley'.

"I do like the Flaming Lips. But I don't have a blonde-haired vixen."

"Well, it's not like you couldn't have one if you wanted one. G'night Moony."

"Good night, Nympha-" He glanced up to catch another smirk, half hidden in a fringe of shiny platinum blonde hair. She winked at him and danced out of the room, singing the chorus of 'Give it Away'. The door slammed behind her.

"Good night, Dora." He banished the book to the shelf and collapsed onto his bed with a sigh.

_Damn..._

* * *

"Moony. Wake up. Moony, wake up. Wake. Up." A sharp finger prodded him in the ribs. "Remus. Wake up. I can't sleep."

"Goway." He rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. "Goddammitpadfootiamshleepingheresoshudahelluppleashe."

"I will not." The finger poked harder. "And it's Tonks, not Sirius. That is highly insulting."

"Dora?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

_What is she doing in here?_

"Obviously." He could see her, standing in the thin shaft of yellow light that forced its way between the drapes. Her hair stood out in every direction and her dressing gown was askew on her shoulders, and he wanted very much to grab her and drag her into bed with him, but he was unsure of whether he was still asleep or not.

_Well, she's definitely wearing more clothing now than in most of my dreams..._

"What are you doing in here?" He slid his feet off the edge of his bed, one gray plaid pajama leg rolled up to his knee. She didn't answer, merely stood there with her arms wrapped around herself, her dark eyes fixed on him with a very odd look. "Why aren't you asleep?" He bit his lip, resisting the urge to reach out and see if she was really standing there.

"Oh. Um," She blinked, then stared down at her toes. "I can't sleep."

"Why not?" He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware that he _was_awake, and should probably turn on the lights, and put on a shirt. He grabbed his wand from the table by his bed and flicked it at the lamps on the wall. They gave off a dim haze that he wasn't completely satisfied with, it had taken him a whole afternoon to figure out how charm the flame on the lamps from a sickly Slytherin green to a normal red-orange. The light played on her face, her hair glowed, she was very real.

"Erm...Ginny snores." Her fingers toyed with the overlong sleeves of her bright turquoise robe. "That, and I had a really horrid dream." She sat down next to him on his bed, her feet didn't touch the ground, but dangled a few inches above it.

"Are you alright?" He reached behind him, trying to find his t-shirt. It had disappeared, probably wadded up under a pillow. "Do you want to tell me about it?" He scooted back to the middle of the bed and sat with his legs crossed.

"Not really. It was really freaky, I'd rather just try to not think of it."

"That bad, eh?"

"Yeah."

"You want to talk about something else, then?"

"Actually, yeah. If you don't mind." She cast a doubtful look at him. "But I can go..."

_I don't mind. I swear I don't mind..._

"No, it's okay."

"Okay. Just remember, you agreed to this." She pulled her feet up and sat across from him, frowning in a most endearing way. "I've a bit of a problem. I-I have a friend, who has a friend, and the first friend has something rather important to tell the second friend, but doesn't really know how to tell y- them what she has to tell them."

_Mental note- Dora is still confusing at three in the morning._

"Is it bad news?"

"This friend may consider it to be bad news." Her nose wrinkled. "But I'm not sure how h- they may take it." She moved closer to him, their knees were touching.

"Are they good friends?"

"Best of friends, they're very close, but things would be...different, if I-she told them what she felt." She studied her fingernails intently, her voice falling to a whisper.

_Oh. I get it. _

"Well, do you want to know what I think?"

"Sure." Tonks nodded, pulling on a thread that had worked loose from the hem of her pajama bottoms.

"I think your friend should tell her friend what she has to tell them, even if it means waking him up in the middle of the night and filling his poor sleepy head with as many complicated hypothetical situations as necessary."

"You think so?" She leaned even closer to him, reaching up and brushing his hair from his forehead.

"Yeah." He sighed and closed his eyes, and was neither shocked nor sorry when he felt her lips against his own.

* * *

A bit of a cliffhanger! Don't fret, I'll update soon.  
Reviewers get to hang with Tonks and relentlessly tease out-of-work professors, or listen to the entire Red Hot Chili Peppers discography with Remus, which may take a while, so bring lots of snacks- preferably chocolate ones.


	7. A Girl With a Peculiar Name

Disclaimer!- I don't own these characters. But you knew that already.

Author's Note!- Thank you for all your reviews!! They are lovely, and encouraging. Tonks loses her cool and employs a relationship consultant, albeit a diminutive one. Remus is confused as _hell,_ which is okay, because he's cute. I am leaving for the weekend, send some love my way.  
Down the hatch with a bad attitude! Salud! The title is from "Haushinka" by Green Day.  
And where I left, I will again begin!

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

A Girl With a Peculiar Name

"Wait, you don't have to go." He caught her as she reached the door, pulling her around to face him. A lock of pink hair trailed across her face and she blew it out of her eyes, nose scrunched.

"Who said I was leaving?" The door clicked shut behind her, the sound made his breath catch in his throat. A thousand different scenarios stampeded through his still-drowsy mind, none of them ending the way he thought they should end, or the way he wanted them to end, being that those were two completely opposite things.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." He took a step backwards, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pajama bottoms in utter terror.

She stepped forward, tucking her hair behind her ears. "You don't snore, do you, Remus?"

"No?"

"Good, then I'm staying in here." Tonks said, nodding sincerely.

"In...here?"

_No, no, no. You can't stay in here. I take it back, you have to leave. _

"That was the idea. Got to have my beauty rest, you know. Kind of impossible to do with a Weasley wheezing right in your ear." She grinned and darted past him.

"Where am I going to sleep?" Remus gave her the agitated glower he usually reserved for her cousin. She flopped back on the pillows, wriggled under the blankets and closed her eyes, smiling sweetly.

"Good question."

* * *

"Morning, Professor." A voice behind said, making him jump and nearly tumble from his seat at the top of the stairwell. The half-eaten, mostly-melted bar of chocolate he held in his hand fell and landed with a squish on the dusty step. A body accompanied the voice, a redhead in a vastly oversized Chudley Cannons sweatshirt and green pajama bottoms, padded down past him without waiting for a reply.

He sighed, leaning his head against the wall. The youngest Weasley stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back.

"Say, have you seen Tonks? Is she still here?"

_Bloody. Hell. _

"I don't know." He shrugged, in an effort to be nonchalant.

"Oh." Ginny nodded and started to turn away, then stopped in mid-step, scratching her head in clear puzzlement. He quickly stood and and dashed back into his room before she could ask another question, nearly tripping over a stack of books.

"Wotcher." A pair of long-lashed, sleepy eyes peeked over the edge of the blanket at him.

"Hi." A pillow hit him square in the face.

_Yes, 'Hi' is the only proper thing to say to the girl in ducky pajamas that infiltrated your room in the middle of the night with the intent of abducting all of your blankets, refusing to give them back until she had recited, from memory, 'Goodnight Moon; Tonks Edition'._

He dropped down next to her, stretching out on his stomach. Unlike his bedding-thief companion, he hadn't slept at all since Nymphadora had prodded him awake with her sharp fingers...Except for the half-hour he had dozed off, waking to find his arms tangled around her, his face pressed against her neck and half-buried in pink hair. He had spent the rest of the night, or morning, as it were, listening to her slow breathing. It evoked a ridiculously bewildering emotion- attempting to sleep next to someone that you desperately wanted to sleep with, but are afraid to be alone with.

"Your roommate snuck up on me in the hall. She wanted to know where you were."

_Someone should put a bell on that child. She's as bad as Mrs. Norris..._

"You didn't tell her that I told you that she snores, did you?" Tonks asked with a yawn. The girl he was madly in love with was _still_ in his bed, in her pajamas, and he could neither make her leave, nor make her...scream his name.

"That is an insult to my integrity. I would hardly divulge any information someone like yourself would tell me in such confidence, Dora."

"What?" A pale forehead furrowed over dark eyes. "It's too early for big words, Professor."

"Ginny probably came to the conclusion that you were doing something a tad less innocent than reciting 'epic poetry' and usurping me from my own bed. Just thought I'd let you know." He didn't mean to sound short, but then again, she_ had_ kicked him out of his bed- he was sure this was a test of some sort.

_Like _I _need to be tested. I've had enough trials, thank you. _

"How very kind of you. Maybe next time she'll be correct in her assumptions. Why'd you leave?"

"Breakfast. Wait, what?"

"Nooothing." Tonks drew the word out, mischief in her voice. "How do you feel about second-breakfasts? Third-breakfasts?" She asked cheerfully, rolling over onto her stomach. She propped herself up on her elbows, the turquoise sleeves of her robe tangled around her wrists.

He shook his head. "It is an interesting concept, but I find the fact that you would reference Tolkien this early in the day slightly disturbing-"

"-And yet, the day has barely begun. That's the scariest aspect of it all, isn't it?" She leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then rolled out of bed and stumbled out the door.

"Yes. Yes it is." Remus reached over, pulled a pillow over his face, trying to ignore the warm, flowery-scented nest she had made of his blankets, trying to fall asleep.

* * *

"I just really need your thoughts on this, you know, someone outside my own head."

The sound of rustling paper and cheerful, feminine voices crept under the door and out into the hall. Remus knew Tonks and Ginny had locked themselves in the study to wrap Christmas gifts, and he also knew what a danger it was to intrude on the proceedings, but he had been sent to retrieve them for dinner by the Weasley matriarch, a woman who had spent all day cooking and was not to be trifled with. He stopped short, slightly apprehensive of the hex he may recieve should he try to open the door. An invasion had already been attempted earlier in the day by Fred and George, although he had an idea that their mission was hardly as innocent as they so adamantly claimed while puking slugs into the sink.

"Here. Ribbon, please, a green-no, a gold one. Thanks. So, just to make certain we're on the same page, here...and to prevent any embarrassing confusion on my part, let's end the hypothetical silly business and just tell me what you mean."

The voice replying dropped beneath the sound of the soft, upbeat music playing in the background.

"Oh. Really? Since this summer, even?"

"Yes, really. Yes."

"Well, I figured you two were, um, past that part already...Since you were in his room last night."

His hand froze, inches from the door, heat rising on his neck despite the fact he was completely alone, undetected in the dark hallway.

_Bloody hell!_

"We didn't _do_ anything, Gin. And how did you know about that?"

"Yeah, like I believe _that_. I'm no Auror, but I'm not an idiot."

"No, really, we didn't- I mean, we're not even dating-"

"Friends with benefits?" The younger girl teased.

"I could be more beneficial if he would just let me." She blurted.

_What?!_

"Geez, Tonks! I don't need to hear that! He was my _teacher._ I don't want to hear about it. No details. Be as vague as possible."

"You asked! And besides, I just want your opinion, that's all. Since you're the house expert on unrequited love."

_Unrequited? Now, that's not fair..._

"That was low. And besides, I'm over _that_. Him, I mean."

"You thought it was funny. Look at your ears, they went all red!"

"You're cruel to me, Tonks. And what makes you think it's unrequited? For you, I mean."

_See? Listen to the ginger! The ginger speaks truth!_

"But he just won't-"

"-Oh, I get it! It's because of that lycanthingy thing, isn't it? That's why he won't go out with you, right?"

_Lycanthingy? What the_ hell?

He fought a laugh. Ginny Weasley was as sharp as her mother and nowhere near as tactful, possessing a frightening temper, a keen mind, and a twisted sense of humor. He feared for anyone that dare cross her.

Tonks didn't laugh, but replied bitterly,"Yeah, something like that. Pass the tape, please."

"Damned stupid noble Gryffindor men, eh?"

"I know." She sighed. "You don't think this is...mental?"

"Of course it is. That's why it's so brilliant. And don't worry, if you're trying to be, y'know, "secretive" about it, I'm your girl. I won't tell anyone. Not even Hermione. Who would be thrilled, by the way."

"What do you think, of him?"

"Why does my opinion matter so much?"

"Well, number one, you're the only other female here besides your mum, and there's _no way-_"

"He's a-"

"Please?"

"-T_eacher." _

"Honestly."

"Okay, _honestly_, he is good-looking. The best looking professor we've had, actually. And he's very nice, and polite, and funny. Sirius says he's secretly a troublemaker."

He felt his face flush for what was probably the fourth time.

"Never mind, you just dig guys with scars anyways, how can I trust your opinion?"

"And you just like to hit below the belt." Ginny laughed. "Tonks, you're in love with him, I can tell."

"It's so much worse than that."

"Then tell him."

"I've been trying! I want to tell him. He doesn't want to hear it." Her voice took on a desperate tone.  
That was what she had wanted to tell him last night, but had not, at least not in so many words. He knew that. Remus had always been better at comprehending words. Actions, especially the mystifying actions of the fairer sex, had always left him feeling like an idiot, but he had been intentionally blind to this, which made him...an arse. An idiotic arse of the highest order. The guilt of deliberately making her unhappy was a sharp pain his conscience, it made his chest feel horribly empty.

_You love her...Why don't you tell her?_

"Well then, we can only hope he gets over being a noble prat." Ginny snickered. "Noble Gryffindor prats with scars are the bane of our existence. We should form a club. A secret society, we'll have bylaws, and complicated handshakes and everything."

He knocked on the door. There was a scrambling of paper and boxes, and a thud, followed by a "Bugger!"

"Wotcher," Tonks said, opening the door and looking around. "Remus." She bit her lip and grinned. Ginny was sitting in the middle of the floor, stuffing ribbons into a cardboard box with haste, a mischeivous smile tugging on her lips.

"Can I have a word, please, Nymphadora?"

"Uh, sure. I'll be right back, okay?" Ginny nodded in agreement, still grinning and resolutely shoving bows into the box as Tonks shut the door behind her. "What's up?" She absently picked at a piece of Spellotape that stuck to the sleeve of her shirt. There was a red bow on the side of her head, and a length of ribbon knotted loosely around her neck; she looked like someone had tried to send her as a gift. Her hair was pulled back in two short blue ponytails, tied with silver tinsel. She smiled brightly. A knot of anxiety replaced the hollow feeling in his chest.

"I was supposed to tell you something and now you're so- and I don't remember what it was, so-"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her, felt her smile against his lips. She felt warm, and happy, and very alive, and he kissed her again.

"I remember, now. What I'm supposed to tell you."

"What is it?"

"That...that I love you. Also, it's time for dinner."

"You're such a prat." She giggled with her lips on his.

"I know. Can we, um...talk later? They're waiting, downstairs."

"Sure." She kissed him again and turned to walk away.

"Wait." He caught her arm.

"This time I really am. Going, I mean." She laughed.

"You have a-" He pulled a sticky piece of paper from her shoulder.

"What?" She craned her neck around, trying to look.

"Just a bit of tape."

"Oh, alright. See you in a while, then?"

"Yes." He grinned at the Muggle gift label that stuck to his fingers, names scrawled in messy, inky script that looked eerily familiar.  
**  
To:** Prof. R.J. Lupin  
**From:** G. Weasley  
Happy Holidays and all that, etc. etc.

* * *

Reviewers get to attend my HP Hanukkah party, at which there will be chocolate coin gambling with Remus, trying not to knock over menorahs with Tonks, and helping Sirius sing his own tipsy version of 'Dreidel, Dreidel'.


	8. Standing in the Shadows

_Disclaimer_- I have no character. Scratch that. I mean, I don't own these characters. Bit of a Freudian slip, there...

_Author's Note_- Hmmm... Title is from "Free Fallin'" by Tom Petty. Ten points to anyone that can tell me the name of the album! I'm certain you will find the title diverting ;)

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Standing in the Shadows

"Wotcher."

"Bloody hell."

"I guess I forgot to lock the door."

Nymphadora Tonks was in the bathtub of Grimmauld Place, bare shoulders and knees poking out of an enormous cloud of soap bubbles. Her long, mint green hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head and pinned there with her wand. Strands straggled down her neck and around her face, curling from the humidity. She grinned sheepishly.

"Forgot, Nymphadora? _Forgot!_?" Remus Lupin slammed a hand over his eyes.

_Oh, god. She's naked. Holy hell. Dammit. What do I do?_

"Well, I was in a hurry to get cleaned up, because I fell and then I was all covered in mud from this bog, y'know, cos there were these Death Eaters that were actually nuns, and- God, Moony! You can't see anything, uncover your eyes." He could hear water splashing onto the marble floor. "And _don't_ call me that."

_Doesn't matter, I can't move anyway._

"I-"

"-Don't worry so much, it's not like I wouldn't show you if you really wanted to see."

"I am _this_ _close_ to dying from embarrassment." He held his other hand up, index finger and thumb an inch apart.

_Even closer to jumping in the tub with you..._

"You won't die. Well, you might if you slip on that puddle and hit your head on the sink."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence. Leaving. Now."

"Mind the puddles." Her voice was bright, a laugh hidden underneath.

As he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder to see her tug her wand out of her hair, pale green curls tumbling over her shoulders into the bubbles before she winked and spelled the door shut. He stopped, leaned back against the wall and collapsed onto the floor with silent laughter, knowing that there was something fundamentally wrong with the universe. Or maybe just with him, but he was starting to enjoy it- the late night talks and shy kisses stolen in dark corners of a dusty house, he wanted more but didn't know how to ask. The feeling was like that of being precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff without a visible bottom, longing to jump off but waiting for someone to push you.

* * *

For Christmas, Tonks had presented him with a secondhand copy of "Ender's Game" and a bottle of absinthe wrapped in a brown paper bag, which she pressed into his hand with a knowing wink. He had given her a box of purple sugar quills and an _almost _mint-condition 'vintage' Pink Floyd shirt- prism and rainbow spectrum across the front, 'The Dark Side of the Moon' emblazoned across the back. He conveniently forgot to mention that the shirt's previous owner had been a teenaged werewolf, and that this werewolf had received it as a birthday gift from a teenaged Animagus, who had though it clever to gift him with a shirt labeled with such a slogan. The first time she wore it, Sirius laughed until he cried but refused to tell her why he found her 'new' shirt so amusing.

During the New Year's Eve party, she had danced for several hours, first with Ginny, George and Fred, and then with Sirius, after everyone else had gone to bed. Sirius had brought out a few bottles of years-old whiskey stashed under a pile of magazines in his closet. Remus had watched from the sofa, remaining adamant that someone had to be 'responsible and set an example', by which he truly meant 'clean up and make sure no one drowns in their own vomit'.

"I'm not good at that waltzy stuff Remus likes...whatsit...Foxtrot-" She spun in a dizzy circle, swaying to a song with droning guitars and a slow beat. By Remus' count, she had downed four glasses already.

"-Uniform. Charlie. Kilo." Sirius finished, grinning like a madman; he was on his second bottle.

"Right. Cuneiform. Harley. Biro." She giggled, swaying on the spot. Sirius caught her, knocking his forehead against hers. She morphed her neon-orange bob to messy black, dark eyes to a stormy gray.

"Oww. Christ, you're pretty. Isn't she pretty, Moony? Don't cry, I'll make you better." He grabbed her chin and kissed her forehead, sloppy and loud; she made a face and wiped the Padfoot-drool away with the back of her hand.

"_Whoa, heaven let your light shine down!"_ She sang loudly and slightly off-key, pushing him away, but he caught her by the wrist and turned her again. Her bare toes peeked from under the hem of torn jeans, her Steve Miller Band t-shirt caught the air as she twirled around, baring her stomach, pale and concave where her hipbones jutted out above the waist of her pants. Black hair fell in her eyes and she shook it back, grinning. For a moment Remus felt like a teenager again, watching his friends dance to music that made no sense to anyone but them.

_Of all women, I get the one born thirteen years too late for everything._

"She is pretty." He shifted on the sofa, moving out of range of the firelight.

"You think that anyways, you old git."

"I think that all the time. And you're older than I am."

"Gah, don't tell Tonks! That is _classified information_. Top secret!"

"She won't remember it, will you, Dora?"

"Remember what?" She asked, between lyrics. _"Show me where to look, tell me, what will I find?"_

"See?"

"Nymphadora, I have some classified, top secret information you might want to be...informed...about." The inebriated Marauder stood up tall and cleared his throat. "Moony wants..." he dropped his voice to a stage-whisper, "To shag you."

"Does he really?" She asked earnestly, blinking.

"He told me so himself." He added proudly.

"Now, that's not polite, Padfoot, to go around telling your friend's secrets."

_I suppose she already knows that, though..._

"Turnabout is foreplay!"

"No, it's 'fair-play'. Turnabout is fair-play."

_I still find it amazing that no one has killed you out of pure annoyance, Padfoot._

"That too." Sirius tripped on the trailing lace of his boot and fell, dragging Tonks down with him. She landed with a painful thud in his lap and he pushed her off, doubling over. "Oh, Merlin...Oww. That was-oww."

"I'm going to bed."

"You do that. Give me your drink, first."

"Clearly, you don't need anything more to drink."

"No, you still have ice." His voice was hoarse, he gestured toward his lap. Tonks clamped a hand over her mouth and put her head on her knees.

"Oh. Right."

"And the left, as well." He lay back on the floor, his head on the carpet. "If you're going, take the lil' missus with you. She's caused me enough bodily harm for one night, and I don't think she can climb the stairs on her own."

"Right. I mean, left. Whatever." Remus handed him his glass and picked the giggling Auror up from her seat on the floor, heaving her over his shoulder.

"I wish James were here. Moony making off with a girl like this, like a woman of Sabine. Oww. He'd never believe it."

"That was Romulus, not Remus." He corrected, an uncontrollable reflex. "And if my memory serves me, I'm usually carrying _your_ drunken arse around like this. Now shut up and ice yourself."

"Yeah." Tonks slurred from somewhere near his elbow. "Shut up. Don't touch my records."

"Wouldn't dream of it-oww."

* * *

"But they _really were_ just nuns, and we scared them _shitless! _And then we had to Obliviate them, of course...Moody thought- but you know how he is- that they might've been Death Eaters, since we were way out in the middle of nowhere, and they were in these black robes...Turns out there are convents way out in the middle of nowhere. And bogs." Tonks leaned over and stole a piece of pie crust from Remus' plate. "And," she said between bites,"There are holes in bogs. Big holes. You aren't listening to me." She smiled wickedly. "You aren't listening at all. And the Lord did grin and the people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats."

"Mm-hmm." Remus nodded, staring into the fire and completely lost in thought.

She poked him in the shoulder with her fork. "You aren't paying attention." They were sitting together on the sofa of the study, picking at the remains of a slice of apple pie. "Moony needs lessons in constant vigilance. I think I could provide him with ample practice in the subject. It is my civic duty."

"Sorry, what?"

"What is it that has you- the master of Professorish-Stuff, and Zen-Like-Focus, and Defending-Against-Dark-Thingys, so distracted?"

"I was thinking about you in the bathtub." He ran a hand through his hair confusedly. He had been thinking about it since before dinner, when he had intruded on her bath. "I mean-"

_Damn it all. _

"-I've always been fond of your tendency to accidentally tell the brutal truth. I find it..." She pursed her lips in consideration. "Endearing and a bit sexy." She didn't tease him, only smiled and nudged him with her shoulder.

"Should I tell you then, that I like your new shirt?"

"It isn't colorful enough for me, I would never have picked it out." She smiled. "But Gin and Hermione thought it would look nice." She smoothed the folds out of her top, flowing and white, the bell sleeves and hem embroidered with black roses. "A bit of a departure from my normal holey band shirt, no?" She pulled her legs up against her chest, knees peeking through the holes in her faded jeans.

"Those always look nice on you. This is lovely, though." He tugged on her sleeve."Elegant. The girls have good taste."

"They do, don't they? I miss them already...I _hated _sending them back to Umbridge."

He banished the pie plate to the desk and wrapped his arms around her, planting a kiss on the pale kneecap that poked through the gaping rip in her pants. "They'll be alright. They're probably already plotting to undermine her regime. I would feel sorry for her, but she _is_ a gigantic slimy toady-faced whore..."

"Oh, Moony. So true, but you need to come up with a more original insult, instead of simply stealing mine. Make an effort." Tonks smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. "It's late, I should go to bed. Walk me to my room?"

"Sure."

They walked down the hall together, the loose way she twined her fingers through his sent a shiver up his arm. They both stopped a few feet from her door, standing in a shadow. She pushed him roughly against the wall, kissing his neck in a slow path from his collar to his jaw, her fingers inching under his shirt, warm against his stomach.

"Dora-"

"Shh." Her lips found his ear and stayed there, her other hand working through his hair, pushing her hips against his. He grabbed her waist, his fingers running up her back and clutching her against him. Tonks nuzzled his neck, pushing his chin back until her teeth grazed his throat and she growled. He felt something snap on -or maybe off- in his brain and he shoved her backwards until her heels hit the stairs, fell on top of her, his knees on either side of hers.

"That was cruel of you."

"It worked though, didn't it?" Thin fingers traced up the inside of his thigh, her voice was a heavy whisper.

"You are evil incarnate." Remus seized a handful of her still-damp hair and pulled her head back, biting her lips and neck until she whimpered in his ear.

"What is this, then? We've turned an already mouldy and festering den of iniquity into headquarters for a secret society to fight evil-doers and _then_ into a house of ill repute...and you don't invite me to join in?" A terrifyingly familiar voice fell around their ears.

_Dammit. Dammit. Dammit Padfoot, Dammit!_

The scuffed toe of Sirius' motorcycle boots tapped on the step, level with Remus' eyes. "No?"

"Oh yeah, I borrowed your Collective Soul album, Tonks." He was stalling, valiantly fighting a fit of chuckles. He dangled the plastic case over their heads, smiling widely.

_Lucky you're my friend, Black. Otherwise I would be dragging your scruffy arse into the Ministry right now._

"O-okay?"

"Right, then. As you were. Carry on, and such. Steady as she goes." He stomped down the stairs, singing cheerfully.

_"Love is in the water, love is in the air..."_

Remus bit his lip until he thought it would bleed, to contain a sigh of disappointment, a laugh, and a thousand vile words he wanted to hurl down the stairs in the general direction of Sirius _effing _Black. Tonks looked simultaneously petrified and on the verge of hysterical laughter, magenta hair sticking out in every direction. Neither of them moved for a good ten seconds.

"Are you sure we're...right. In doing...this?" He was still on top of her, for a split second he remembered a night in the park, Nymphadora sitting in his lap on the ground, telling him how ridiculous he was.

_Of course it's ridiculous. _

"Yes." Her breath came short and shallow.

"You know I can't give you what you want."

"What do I _want_, Remus?" Her voice was harsh. "What do you _think_ I want? I don't _need_ _you_ to _give me_ anything, so just put that thought of your pretty little head right now."

"Dora-"

"Okay, I thought this would come up sometime, so here we go- I'm doing my best not to seem like I'm hoping for a long-term relationship. We may not have time for that. But that doesn't mean we should just abandon this altogether, do you understand? I _don't_ want to get married right now. I _do _love you, and I want to be with you."

He buried his face in her neck. "What makes you so sure-"

"If I wasn't sure, do you think I would allow this kind of behaviour?" She laughed, waving a hand to indicate their compromising position.

"No, probably not, but _someday_-"

_Someday you'll want more than I can give you...Someday you're going to hate me for that..._

"Someday, things will be different, isn't that why we're here?" She kissed him on the cheek. "We have to _make_ things different. That's why I'm here, so that someday things will be better for you. And me. And besides, if I died, I'd never forgive myself for _not _letting you tackle me on the stairs every time you felt the...need."

"You are completely insane."

"And evil. You must find it devastatingly attractive or you wouldn't still be...on me like this."

_You'll hate me and I'll still love you, and neither of us will be able to do anything about it... _

"Too right I do." He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly.

_...Which will probably kill us both. And you're right. You're always right, I would never forgive myself, either..._

"Are you going to get up?"

"How should I answer that?" Remus made no effort to keep the mischief from his voice, nuzzling against her warm, shampoo and apple-pie scented neck.

"You're just as bad as Sirius, you know."

"Where do you think he learned it?"

* * *

Reviewers get a nicely worn-in concert tee from either Moony (Pink Floyd- The Dark Side of the Moon) or Padfoot (AC/DC- Back in Black) :D


	9. Sarcastic Mister Know It All

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

**Disclaimer****- **You all know that I'm not a famous Auror... I mean, Author. Yes. That's what I meant. Not a famous author, don't own any characters.

**Author's Note****-** Avast, mateys! Time for yet another installment! Do you have the courage and fortitude needed to embark on this literary misadventure? I sure hope so.  
To give further credit where credit is due- the title is from 'Scar Tissue', by my boys- the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

**Step Into the Night**

Sarcastic Mister Know-It-All

A woman pushed open the door, carrying a pair of boots in one hand and a orange purse in the other. She was slight, her hair was black, streaked through with purple to match her shirt, completely clashing with her yellow plaid pants.

"How precious." She whispered as she stood at the foot of the bed, surveying a sleeping pair- one, a black-haired, unshaven man, fully dressed and curled up on his side, the other so hopelessly entangled in a fuzzy blanket that nothing was visible but bare feet and brown hair. She deposited boots and bag silently on the floor and climbed in, sitting between them.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier." She poked the blanket-cocooned man gently, pulling the covers down from around his face.

"S'okay." His voice was raw and quiet, heavy with sleep.

"You're not supposed to be awake."

"I heard you trip on the rug in the hall."

_And on the stairs. And when you fell over, trying to unlace your boots..._

"Oh." She kissed him gently on the forehead, pale above a pair of drowsy blue eyes. "How are you feeling?"

He sighed, stretching out his arms. "I'm okay."

"You're adorable."

Remus Lupin raised an eyebrow in speculation. "I think you may be too biased on the subject to make a fair judgment."

"Am I adorable?"

"You're not supposed to be awake, either."

"How do I look?" The man on her left prodded her shoulder impatiently. "Am I cute?"

"You look like you're intruding."

"He was my Moony first. Thus, I have Moony-snuggling seniority over you." Sirius rubbed his eyes and yawned. "You, my dear, are a newcomer, and shall be treated as such. Don't expect anymore niceties from here on out."

"It's true. He _was_ here first." He grinned through the dull ache in his head.

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right..." She muttered under her breath, nudging Sirius away with her elbow.

"I see how it is. You come barging in, trying to make off, or out, or whatever, with _my _Moony, that I've had for _years_. I don't think that's fair, but since I know he's desperate for your 'attention', I will be the bigger person and vacate the premises to the best of my very limited abilities." Sirius concluded, but he grinned, rolling off the bed and onto his feet. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"You realize how contradictory that aphorism sounds coming from a man such as yourself, right?"

"Why would I say it if it wasn't?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered toward the door. "And if you do, don't name it after me. No, _do_ name it after me. That would be awesome!" Sirius laughed, slamming the door behind him.

"Traitor! Shame of my flesh!" The all-too-familiar deranged scream of Walburga Black rang out in the foyer downstairs.

"Shut up! Shut up! Merlin's-fucking-pants, mum! Get over it, already!" Heavy footfalls thundered down the stairwell and they both grinned, listening to the man storming around downstairs, trying to silence the portraits.

"I have the rest of the day off..." Tonks smiled and studied her chipped blue fingernail polish.

_Because you_ asked _for today off two weeks ago..._

"...And it doesn't look like you're going anywhere."

"You'll hardly have to convince me to stay. But I'd like to get dressed first, if you don't mind-"

"-And if I do mind?" She grinned, her eyes narrowed with mischief.

He shook his head at her, trying for the stern, professorish look.

"Quit trying to use your Jedi mind powers on me, Remus. Why not?"

_Mental note- the stern, professorish look does not work on Auror Tonks. _

"Why not? Should I make you a list?"

_One, My back is killing me. Two, I need a shower. Three, I'm a werewolf..._

"There's no need."

"Just making an attempt at propriety, but there isn't any no hope for that, is there?"

"Not in the least." She laughed, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over herself. "Unless you really, really want to make a list, and if that's the case, then go for it." Tonks wrapped her arms around him gently.

"But-"

"-Nice pajamas. Very grunge, you know, plaid flannel. You look like a cuddly Kurt Cobain, without the needle marks. And I don't even like Nirvana much, anyways, but he _was_ nice-looking, and you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? What, did you think I was going to take advantage of you in your weakened state?"

"Maybe."

"You _don't_ want me to take advantage of you?" She arched a brow in disbelief.

He didn't answer, but looked away, feigning innocence.

The Order meeting that night took an eternity, or at least, that's how it felt to him. The matter was not helped by the woman sitting across the table, staring at him from under her hair. Dumbledore was talking, and he knew he should be paying attention but his mind was four hours behind, stuck in a daze, and nothing the old man was saying made any sense. Not that it usually did, anyway. Tonks winked at him. He felt his face flush and he tugged on the collar of his shirt nervously.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"What kind of a question?" They were laying in his bed talking, a ritual they had fallen into- on the day following a full moon Tonks would be there with a new book or album, a mug of tea or a funny story, things he appreciated far more than being "looked after" and force-fed chicken soup. He knew she had taken the day off, it was not by chance that she had a whole afternoon to spend doing nothing but talking, and as of late, conversation had given way to things of a closer nature.

"It's a personal question, but since we're...well, I figure I should be in the know." The shy, mischievous tone of her voice was enough to betray her query before she even asked.

"What's the question, then?" He couldn't see her face, as it was nestled against his shoulder.

"When was the last time, you...erm-"

_Damn._

"-Oh. That. Well."

"Well?"

He stopped fidgeting and straightened his collar, hoping no one had noticed the collection of suspicious bruises on his neck. There was a spell for that- one of the few he could never remember- but he rather liked how it looked in the mirror anyway and left things as they were. Bill Weasley was now standing at the head of the table, making his presentation. Remus wasn't exactly sure what he was talking about, something to do with goblins or trolls or dragons or...something, but he nodded in agreement with everyone else.

"Well-that's been-about-uh...never...?"

"Really?" Her voice was barely a whisper, devoid of the incredulous tone he had half-expected.

"But only by a minute, microscopic, molecule of a technicality." He forced a laugh, the effort made his ribs twinge, still sore from the previous night. Remus had dated his share of girls, though always falling behind James in quality of relationships, and Sirius in quantity. Dating was only for fun, never a means to an end, never anything more than messing around- a shallow, insensitive maxim that he had always hated, for it forced him to completely disregard aspects of his personality- mainly the part that wanted to marry a nice, sweet girl and have a dozen children. "It's not like I've never done_ anything_-"

_Oh god._

"-No, of course! I mean, _clearly _you've- " She propped herself up on her elbows, chin in her hands, and regarded him with a look of solemn appraisal. He didn't know whether to keep talking or smother himself with a pillow.

"-I know. It's just that...Well, none of the women ever _knew_-"

"-About your...right." She nodded, lips pursed thoughtfully.

Tonks was taking notes, alternately twirling the pencil in her fingers and tapping the eraser end on her nose. She was knocking the toe of her boot against his own under the table, wearing that smile on her face- the one he had seen so often on Sirius when he was particularly pleased with the end results of some mischief. The self-satisfied, wicked smirk on her face was exactly that, and he, being the object of her deviltry, knew full well _why_. And also, _how_- in vivid detail.

"I _couldn't_, you know. You can't- I mean, it's not something I could do to someone, to be in a relationship and have such a huge secret, and it was more important to keep _that_ a secret." He sighed. "I mean, after I stopped teaching, well, I got some really horrible letters from some of the girls I went out with...I can't imagine what they would've sent if we'd actually-"

"-They did _what_?" She interrupted, shocked. One of her hands worked through his hair, already beyond any hope of being properly combed for days. She was warm and smelled flowery, and the arms that wrapped around his neck were soft and all he really wanted to do was fall asleep with his face against her neck.

"Howlers. They sent me _howlers_, Dora. The irony...well. It's funny, in a depraved way. I guess they were offended that they unknowingly fooled around with a werewolf and were embarrassed about it and blamed me for a situation they put themselves in willingly, and believe me- for the sake of simplicity, I was trying to avoid any sort of a relationship because I knew that none of them would ever have a chance of being real, due to-but then you know me and how I can't tell people 'no', especially a girl-"

_This is _not_ going like I imagined... _

Nymphadora drummed her fingers impatiently on the kitchen table. Her hands were bare, empty-looking without the half-dozen rings she usually wore- currently taking up residence in a shiny little heap on his night table. Only one was real silver; he still had the mark on his wrist to prove it, a pattern of stars that had burned red and was now a fading white scar to match the rest. She glanced around the room with a detached, distracted air, as if looking for an escape route, fingernails cracking against the chipped lacquer on the table. McGonagall reached over and pressed her hand flat, shooting the startled Auror a look of mild reprobation that only those who teach can use to such effect.

"But it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does matter. People like that are the reason you can't have a life just like everyone else. I mean, it's not even your fault, and how old were you when you were bitten? It's not like you wanted this, you were just a little boy, it wasn't your fault at all, and-" Her voice broke. Usually, by this time of post-moon afternoon, she was singing to whatever record was playing and he was falling asleep with his head in her lap. Today it was _Rocket to Russia_, she was quiet, and he was wide awake- surprised that he had actually remembered the name of the album, considering his current situation, position, and the company present.

_Sheena is a punkrocker, indeed._

"It's alright, really. It's okay."

"Reparations must be made." She said decidedly, nodding. The intense way she eyed him was at once worrying and exciting.

_What?_

"What?"

She grinned deviously, hooking her fingers under the waist of his pajama bottoms, and pushed her lips against his in a slow, deep kiss that melted his aching brain into a pool of disjointed, disintegrated thoughts.

Bill finally finished talking and sat down, everyone once again nodding their approval of whatever he had just said. Tonks was absently doodling on a piece of parchment and drinking from an oversized Styrofoam cup filled with the bubbly, acid-green Muggle drink she liked so much. She bit the straw pensively, sending an odd shiver down his spine- odd because he had never really been able to identify with a straw before, and a shiver...well, her definition of 'reparations' was hardly sending him a cheque by mail. He ran a hand through his hair, compelling himself not to lay his head on the table and laugh like a maniac.

_Merlin's-fucking-pants. I've lost my mind..._

Tonks glanced up at him, folding the scrap of paper in half, then in half again. She kicked him in the shin, smiling brightly while she pushed the plate of biscuits across the table to him, stealthily slipping him the note. He took both, nodded his thanks, unfolding the note in a stack of files that he had been told to review and had sat forgotten on his desk all afternoon.

_Professor! (I like calling you that, can you tell?)-_

_Do _you_ know what_ today _is? Let me give you a hint- it starts with a 'V' and ends with an 'apostrophe' and an 's', and it stands for Valentine's day, which I completely forgot...And now I feel terrible, because though I did_ give_ you something, I didn't get you anything, and I know how you like your chocolate and such. So tell me, what should I do to make it up to you? Write me a list, if you want, ha ha ha._

_XOXO- Dora  
(even though that's _not_ my name...but it does sound nice when you say it like you were saying it when I was...well, you were there.) _

He reached over and pulled the quill from Sirius' hand- the one he was using to fill out the Daily Prophet crossword, not with the answers but with swear words in three different languages. Moody was making his his usual closing statements, heavy on the constant vigilance.

"Oi, I was using that." He hissed.

"Not anymore, you aren't." Remus scrawled a reply, folded it and kicked it to her under the table with expert aim.

"Still got it, I see." Sirius looked back down at his crossword, pulling another quill from his back pocket. "Prefect, professor, note-passer extraordinaire..."

She read it under the table, looking up with a grin. Moody finished his spiel and the Order members started migrating toward the cake and coffee on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, just go already." Padfoot sighed, shaking his head and filling in a blank space with something vile in German. "I'll handle the diversion so you don't get dragged into another discussion about the Harpies with Dung again."

"You're an okay fellow, I don't care what they say about you."

"Yeah, well good luck, and don't forget to name it after me." He climbed to his feet, hauling Remus out of his chair by the back of his shirt, giving him a quizzical stare. "Whoa, mate. Are those what I think they are? You do know there's a spell for that, don't you?" Sirius muttered as he straightened his collar, then turned Remus around and shoved him towards the door.  
"Do any of you good people want to play Exploding Five-Card Stud with a lonely-but-charming, slightly tipsy, falsely-convicted escaped felon?!" He shouted, producing a deck of cards out of thin air, waving them over his head.

Reviewers get to play poker with Sirius and me! ;)


	10. Pink Linen and White Paper

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters!

Author's Note: Oh, the excitement! Oh, the drama! This one took _forever_ to write, for which I will apologize and do my best to make this chapter worth your while.  
Title is from "Shimmer" by Fuel.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Pink Linen and White Paper

"Remus. Go change your shirt, I'm taking you out."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" A set of four glossy purple fingernails crept over the top of his newspaper, pulling it down to reveal a pair of dark eyes, peering at him over the Quidditch scores.

"I got dressed up. And you can't wear a jumper with ink on the sleeve. That's just ridiculous." He glanced up at her; thin and curvy in a strappy dress that floated around her thighs, just short enough to be entirely too tempting for her own good. Her hair matched the outfit for once; a soft pink, cropped short and curled at the ends. She had forgone heels and had donned black high-top trainers instead.

_And all this time I thought Padfoot had been lying to me about the 'Happy Birthday Moony Fairy'..._

"You are ridiculous. _That _is a nightgown, Nymphadora. Did you get dressed in the dark again?" He smirked. "I thought you wanted to go out?"

"Not if you want to stay. It is _your_ party, after all." A pink eyebrow arched at him. "So you get to pick."

"Hmm. Stay in and try to find a place to hide from Mr Black, or go out and be the envy of every man in England. Decisions, decisions."

"Well, make up your mind. I'll be downstairs." She twirled around and skipped out of the study, looking every bit a pixie.

* * *

"So this is where you go to hide from Mad-Eye?" He wrapped his arm around her waist as they ducked in the door of a seemingly Muggle pub, but he knew that it wasn't as soon as they forced their way to the bar, which had a Hufflepuff pennant tacked to the wall behind it, though most of the bottles below were Muggle drinks.

"Shh!" She winked cheekily, a finger on her lips. "Get us a seat, will you? I'll be right back." She steered him towards the bar and took off through the crowd.

Remus took the nearest seat, next to a man flicking peanut shells across the bar, the turned-up collar of his leather jacket still speckled with rain.

"Stoli, please. Neat. Blue label, if you have it."

The man next to him nodded his approval. He was young, thin and ashen, with unkempt hair and a lit cigarette in one hand. He leaned against the bar, gray-green eyes staring at Remus interestedly.

"Hey, I know you. Gryffindor, right? You ran around with James Potter and that bunch. Lupin, no? Isn't that your name?" The man asked, pointing at him with the fingers holding the cigarette. He looked hardly old enough to have been in school during the same era as Tonks, much less 'James Potter and that bunch'.

"That's me, yes."

"Yeah, I remember you. You're the one that got me down after Sirius Black tried to Permanently Stick my trousers to the ceiling in the Charms corridor. That was my second year." He laughed, "It must've been seventh for you, then. You probably don't remember me, I'm Jules." He stuck out a pale hand in greeting, chilled against Remus' palm.

"I suppose I would have recognized you right away if you were twelve years old and hanging from the ceiling." Remus laughed; barely a week ago Sirius had threatened him with the same upside-down fate. "What house were you in?"

"Ravenclaw." He laughed too. "You taught at Hogwarts a few years back, didn't you?"

"I did. Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"That was always my favorite class." His voice was wistful as he ran a hand through stringy hair. He grinned, baring unearthly white, unnaturally sharp teeth.

_One- he has...fangs? _

"Mine too." Remus glanced quickly at the mirror behind the bar, hardly surprised when he saw himself sitting alone.

_Two- he definitely has no reflection. I_ knew _this Defense thing would be useful someday..._

"What are you doing now, then?"

"Odd jobs." Remus shrugged. "You?"

_A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar...Padfoot will get a kick out of this, I'm sure._

Jules kicked at a well-worn guitar case laying on the floor. "I'm in a band. Not playing 'til later, though, I have to wait for the rest of the guys to show up."

Remus nodded in silent contemplation, an arm wrapping around his waist. "Hey, Dora. This is-"

"-Julius." She took a startled step backwards, nearly pulling him from his seat.

"Nymphadora?" The man raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.

"_Don't _call me that." They said together, Tonks still backing away with her fingers still clutching Remus' shirt in a death grip. He pried her hand loose.

"So you know each other?"

_Oh, hell. I bet they used to date..._

Jules nodded, smirking. "Tonks toured with us a summer, wasn't it right after you graduated? What's it been, six, seven years? Anyway, long story short, _someone_ lost me a Battle of the Bands because _someone _decided to get drunk and storm the stage, lift her shirt for the crowd, and then knock over the bass player and half of the amplifiers. Haven't seen Nymphadora since then...not that _she_ had anything to do with that little incident."

"Really, Dora?"

"I, uh-" Tonks fumbled for words, stepping even farther behind Remus.

"We all thought it was hilarious...After Geoff recovered from his concussion, that is. Still, it wasn't as funny as that show in Blackpool when you set my shirt on fire." He smashed his cigarette into the ashtray, leaning forward and abruptly changing the subject. "So, are you two together?"

"Erm, yes."

"Glad to see you finally found someone with some brains, Tonks, though I can't believe he can get away with calling you 'Dora'. Must be serious. Or you must be mellowing out, old girl."

Remus shook his head in disagreement, Tonks snorted indignantly.

"Well, I'll see you two later, I think it's time for our sound-check." Jules waved to a group of men traipsing damply through the door, sliding from his bar stool. He grabbed the guitar case and jogged over to meet the rest of the band. Tonks took a seat next to Remus, smoothing her skirt over her legs in a perturbed silence.

"So, you've always knocked about with Dark Creatures then?"

"What do you-Oh, right. He's a vampire. I'd forgotten. Well, it wasn't his fault, you know. And Jules is like you- a nice guy, not a _creature_." She shot him a glare and daintily sipped her drink; something acid-green and bubbly. "What did I tell you about using that phrase?"

"That I'm not allowed to say it anymore," Remus grinned sheepishly at her over his glass. "Unless I'm referencing your extended family."

"Right. And it wasn't like _that_." She poked him in the arm to stress her meaning. "I had just graduated, and I was a guitar tech, not a groupie."

"I didn't know you played guitar, Dora."

"Eh." She made a vague, embarrassed gesture. "I don't, really. I'm not very good at all."

"Why are you so nervous?" He asked her outright, but jokingly. "An ex-boyfriend in the pub, maybe?"

"No!" She grimaced and slapped his arm. "If you must know, there was freak accident involving me, a huge flight of stairs and a perfectly restored '59 Gibson Melody Maker...Which Jules still thinks was stolen. So let's not get all chummy with him until I can afford a replacement, 'kay?"

"You're a _witch_, couldn't you fix it?" Teasing her was irresistible when she was already flustered, and he felt that it should be taken advantage of at every available chance.

"Shh." Tonks glanced around furtively. "_Reparo_ doesn't work on guitars, did you know that?"

"Strangely enough, I do. James and I figured that out the hard way. But don't tell your cousin, he still thinks a house elf took his guitar. The man holds a grudge, did you know that?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed."

"God, I hope not." He looked away, grinning and taking a long drink.

"Remus John! If it wasn't your birthday, I'd-"

"You'd what? Is it on the list? Because I still have it, if you don't remember-"

"I remember." She threw a peanut at him, followed by an impertinent scoff. "Like I would _forget_."

* * *

They were cornered later on by Jules and coerced into taking part on stage- a shiny black guitar was slung around Tonks' shoulders and someone shoved Remus behind a microphone. The vampire cued the drummer and started into a punk song, sharply elbowing Remus to join in and then dropping out to play a guitar riff, leaving him to sing by himself. Singing was something Remus rarely did- unless he was completely alone. At home. In his room. Where no one could hear him. Luckily, he knew the lyrics well enough, and had had his share of alcohol for the evening; not enough to warrant streaking through the nearest Wizarding village, but enough for him to sing -without protest- about breaking rocks in the hot sun. Tonks looked up from her embarrassed strumming, pink-cheeked and wide-eyed with incredulity.

"She's the best girl that I ever had! I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won."

_Yes, I know the Clash, Dora. I'm not_ that _lame. Anyone that shared a room with Sirius and James for seven years would know the Clash._

She gave him a terrified grin and tore through an impressive, improvised solo without looking down.

_I have the coolest girlfriend e__ver..._

"Let's get the fuck out of here before they make us do 'Rock the Casbah'," Tonks whispered as the song ended, grabbing him by the shirtsleeve. She shoved the guitar into the hands of Geoff, the concussion-receiving bass player and they dashed out the back door into the alley, both laughing like idiots.

"I thought you said you couldn't play guitar?"

"I never said I couldn't. I'm just not _good_. Comparatively."

"Compared to who, Jimi Hendrix?" He joked, linking his arm through hers. "You're brilliant."

"No, you're brilliant. I just like music."

The pub wasn't far from her flat, and she insisted that they stop by, for reasons know to her and suspected by him; so they walked the few blocks in the rain to the converted brick warehouse. He knew that for both their sakes', he should say goodnight and stumble back to Grimmauld Place, but he also knew that if he did stay, there was a good chance they could spend some time alone without being intentionally interrupted by Sirius; an enticing opportunity.

"Do you want your present?" She practically dragged him to the sofa- a squashy brown velvet number with a stack of magazines taking up an entire cushion. Her flat was one large room tucked into a corner of the third floor. Nearly every inch of the brown brick walls were covered in posters. A bookshelf crammed with old Hogwarts texts, paperback novels, and probably a thousand albums took up most of one wall, a fireplace and windows on the other. Part of the room was boxed in by Japanese paper screens, he imagined this would be her bedroom and bathroom, since it was the only part of her housing that wasn't encompassed in the sitting room-kitchen-record store combination.

"Here." She sat down next to him and pressed a small parcel into his hands, wrapped in the cartoon section of a Muggle newspaper.

"A book?" He asked, grinning.

"Open it, you'll see." She bounced on the sofa excitedly. He smiled and tore the paper off, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it at her head.

"A dictionary?" He turned the tiny book over in his hands. It was a pocket-size Merriam-Webster dictionary, bound in brown leather.

"But it's special." She said tentatively, opening the book to the 'A' section. "See, I highlighted all the words that remind me of you-"

"-In pink." He ran a finger over 'adroit, adj.- 1. cleverly skillful, resourceful, ingenious'.

"Is that okay? It's the only color I had-"

"-It's perfect." He put the book down on the seat and touched her face, gently tucking her hair behind her ear, then leaned in to press his lips against hers. He wrapped an arm around her, his hand between her bare shoulderblades, fingertips slipping on skin damp with rain and sweat.

_You're perfect._

He deepened the kiss and pulled her on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips. Her fingers tightened on the collar of his shirt and in his hair and he pulled her down to whisper in her ear.

_Tell her you want to stay..._

"We shouldn't-"

"But we are."

"Obviously." His unvoiced protest was no match against four glasses of hundred-proof vodka and an immutable, worshipful love for the girl, whose thin fingers were unbuttoning his shirt with a most un-Dora-like dexterity.

* * *

It was still raining outside when he woke up to the sound of a clock radio, freezing in mid-reach as he leaned over to turn it off. He shut his eyes, then opened them again, looking around to make sure he was at Number Twelve like he'd thought at first.

_Nope. Too many colours._

Nymphadora was next to him, asleep, which wasn't new; he had only just become accustomed to her on the nights she stayed at Grimmauld, though their current situation was quite baffling to his drowsy mind. She lay on her stomach, one arm under the pillow and the other dangling over the edge of the bed. Remus grinned perplexedly, propping himself up on his elbow.

_Bloody hell. _

He reached out, hesitantly pushing her hair from her face. She was mind-numbingly beautiful, possessing curves that fit his hands like she was custom-made for him, something he found disconcerting. He didn't know if she had done that on purpose, or how she'd done it, or whether a Metamorphmagus could actually do that, so he had asked, unable to thwart curiosity even while he had her pinned to the bed.

"Is this- This is you? You're not-" Talking was unnecessarily difficult and oddly loud, as all previous sound had dissipated into sighs, whispered names, and rain on glass. She took his face in both hands, looking him squarely in the eye, and shook her head.

"No, this is me. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He pulled her hands away from his face and rested his forehead against hers. "Please, don't be sorry."

He knew a part of him would eternally regret it; the inexorably repentant portion of his brain would never let him forget that sleeping with her was a dreadful mistake, one that couldn't be remedied with a carefully-worded apology. He resolved to ignore the thought, at least until he was sober, and clothed enough, to come to terms with the havoc he had just wreaked upon their future.

"I'd make you breakfast, but that would be too cliche for us, don't you think? Not to mention I have no food." She wasn't asleep after all. Her lips parted in a half-smile before her eyes opened, blinking to focus.

"Personally," he said, wrapping his arms around her to pull her against his chest. "I think you've done enough for one birthday." A sticky, affectionate kiss was planted on his cheek. "But I have a problem with your sheets."

"What's wrong with my sheets, Lupin?" She demanded, giving him a menacing look.

He pulled the neon-blue and black tiger-striped bedsheet over their heads, light soaking through and casting striped shadows across her shoulders.

"They are ridiculous."

* * *

Review! Or Moony will be sad on his birthday, and we can't have that!


	11. The Urgency of Now

Disclaimer!-- These characters are not mine!

Author's Note!-- Yay for new euphemisms, house pride, and boys that work on motorbikes!  
Title is from '1979' by the Smashing Pumpkins! .

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

The Urgency of Now

"Good morning, cousin-shagger." Sirius Black nicked a piece of toast from the plate in the middle of the kitchen table, fixing his breakfast companion with a look of mixed pride and astonishment, a look that went completely unnoticed by the brown haired man reading the newspaper.

"Quit stealing my damned toast, Padfoot." A threat issued from behind the paper, in a low voice; simultaneously irked and amused.

"The kitchen is mine, and in seeing this, the aforementioned condemned toast is also mine. I share it with the likes of you only out of the generous spirit that moves me."

"How very kind of you. Have some butter as well." He pushed a plate and knife across the table without looking, still reading the Muggle paper.

"Quit trying to change the subject, cousin-shagger."

"She's not my cousin."

"Ah, but you don't deny the shagging?"

Remus Lupin folded the newspaper, shooting his long-time friend a look of practiced innocence.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Black. You're not making any sense whatsoever. Your mind is completely addled." He nodded wisely. "Probably from the alcohol."

"Don't lie, Remus. It's unbecoming. You guys did it, and I want to know how it went, so spill." A fist pounded the butcher block table, making the plates and coffee cups rattle.

"You've been at this for days, Sirius. Even if we had, I don't think I would feel safe telling you how your little cousin is in bed. It may bring out that overprotective, mothering side of you that's so terribly frightening."

"I'm only terribly, frighteningly, motheringly overprotective of you, you know. If I find out she's messing you around-" He slashed threateningly at the air with the crumb-flecked butter knife.

"Yes, that would be terribly frightening," Remus spooned sugar into his coffee, smirking."If she were toast."

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Any answer I could give you would only result in your bothering me about it for the rest of your life."

_Which may not be that long, if you keep burglarizing my breakfast..._

"Fine, then. I'll go ask Tonks." Sirius stood to leave, grinning at the panicked look on Remus' face, which was quickly followed by an angry stare. "That's right. Tonks is out trying to find and exterminate yours truly. So you did do it? Hmm?"

"And what if we did?" He glared at Padfoot over his coffee, willing the man's hair to spontaneously catch on fire.

"Well, I'd say, 'Congratulations, ol' boy!', and then I'd ask you how it was."

"And if I said it was great? This is purely hypothetical, of course."

_But it's not hypothetical at all, which is amazing in and of itself..._

"Of course." Sirius nodded thoughtfully, smirking and spreading a slice of toast thickly with butter. "Then, I'd say, 'It's to be expected, dear Moony. The Black family is not known only for being completely heartless, but also for being absolutely _legendary_ in the sack'."

"That explains why there are so many of you."

"Shut it." He crammed the whole piece of toast in his mouth.

_He would find out anyway..._

"Well, the legend continues." Remus grinned. It had been three days since he had spent the night at Tonks' flat; she had been sent off on, oddly enough, a mission to locate the notorious Sirius Black. Remus hadn't seen her since the day after his birthday, though she had owled to tell him that she missed him, and to remind him not to let 'Cujo' touch her records- he assumed she meant the man sitting across from him.

"Thds ndt hypthdical!" Padfoot coughed through a mouthful of crumbs. "Moony, that wasn't hypothetical."

Remus didn't answer, but stirred his coffee purposefully, looking away.

"Hell yes! Moony got laid, Moony got laid!" Sirius chanted, grinning and pounding his fist on the table.

"I didn't think he'd write a song about it," Remus regretfully told his mug, fighting the urge to brain his friend with a tea kettle.

"-Moony got laid, Moony got laid, Moony got laid!" He sang loudly, dancing in his chair.

"Your lyrics, though specific and concise, suck."

"Moony got-" He stopped mid-yell, scowling. "Always a critic. You're still helping me with the bike today, right?"

"Only if you promise to quit chanting."

"I swear. Because I'm a nice person."

"And generous."

"Generous, yes. And good in bed."

"If you say so."

"Don't make me prove it!" He jabbed the air with the knife again, this time in Remus' direction. "Cousin-shagger." He added, decidedly.

* * *

"Tell me again why we're not doing this with magic?"

"We're getting in touch with out Muggle side, Moony. Crescent wrench." A grimy hand appeared on the other side of the motorcycle they were systematically dismantling. Remus passed the wrench over the wheel. "This is a labor of love, it has to be done delicately." Sirius leaned all his weight on the handle of the wrench to loosen a nut, swearing loudly when he jammed his finger on something greasy and chrome.

"You don't think- I don't know. Sirius?"

"What?" A black eyebrow raised over the leather seat of the motorcycle.

"I think I'm too old for her."

"For Tonks?"

_No, for Celestina effing Warbeck, you git._

"Who do you think I'm talking about?"

"You're too old for Tonks? That, my friend, is an untruth. You are not old, because if you were old, that would make me even older, and I'm _not_ old, so by the transitive property, neither are you." Despite Tonks' warnings, he had gone through her albums and was playing one loudly, a song about a place called Possum Kingdom; though neither kingdoms nor possums were mentioned a single time in the lyrics, leaving Sirius quite disappointed. "I think this song is about vampires. You're not old, Moony. You're a git, but you're not old."

"Why'd I even ask?"

"Because you're an insecure, troubled man with an imagination that would cause a normal person's brain to implode. If she thought you were too old," Sirius paused, fishing a ratchet out of the toolbox. "If she thought you were too old, I highly doubt she'd be dragging you off to the study for a snogfest all the bloody time."

"That's not all we do-"

"You play chess? Exploding Snap? Charades?" Padfoot grinned. "With the door _locked_?"

Remus sighed and leaned his head against the wheel well, the metal cold against his forehead, flushed like the rest of his face.

_Thank god for locks._

"Merlin's lacy purple knickers, Remus!" Sirius laughed, throwing a pair of pliers back in the box. "Just go with it and have a good time! You need a cute girl to feel you up every now and again, it'll make things easier for you, maybe make you forget that you have a fluffy tail sometimes."

"You're an arse." His voice reverberated in the large, empty room. He didn't want to admit that the girl did make him forget about his furry little problem momentarily, though not completely. She wasn't overly sympathetic, nor did she tip-toe around the topic, it was a balance of gentle teasing and stubborn, honest compassion. He had thought, for the longest time, that she hadn't cared about it at all, but finally realized that he had been wrong; she cared enough not to let it bother her, loved him enough not to let a problem stand in the way.

"You worry too much."

"For valid reasons."

"Screw you, and your reasons."

"I just don't want to hurt her. I'm dangerous."

"Those are some strong words coming from a man in mismatched socks. Moony, you are only dangerous when you are: one- transformed without the potion, two- very, _very_ drunk, or three- driving." He patted the seat of the bike fondly. "I take it you remember the Pine Tree Incident of 1977?"

_"Remus, meet Pine Tree. Pine Tree, this is Remus. Going ninety. In the _air_. On a motorcycle that he_ doesn't know how to drive_..."_

"That was a combination of scenarios two and three. And it was your fault, you _made_ me play that stupid drinking game."

"It was hilarious, you smelled like piney-fresh vodka for days." He smirked, rifling through the toolbox to dig out another wrench. "Tonks is a trained Auror. I think she could take you down without any trouble at all. It's basically part of her job description to be able to incapacitate mild-mannered, bookish, lycanthropic professor-types. Whether you're all hairy and snarly...or at a full moon."

Remus laughed. Sirius had always, despite his name, been able to turn the most somber of discussions into a riot, and any riot into utter anarchy. "She is rather incapacitating."

"Hurray for a new euphemism, however literate and hard-to-say it may be!" Padfoot cackled. "I like it. She brings out this this randy, deviant side of you that is so terribly, frighteningly interesting, considering that it was heretofore buried under a mountain of smart-aleck remarks and wooly jumpers."

"I find it terribly frightening that you find it interesting. And I'm not a deviant."

"Oh, yeah? Pass me the monkey wrench, you cousin-shagging, tree-murdering, smart-alecking, wooly-jumpering fiend."

"Now you're just making words up."

* * *

"Wotcher, Dora." Remus rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of black engine grease over his left eye. He sat on the floor, in the 'garage', Grimmauld's formal dining room, surrounded by motorcycle parts, scattered willy-nilly across the black-lacquered floor.

"What are you doing?" She leaned against the doorframe, taking a slurpy sip from a styro cup. Tonks was wearing her favourite tattered jeans, red suspenders hanging down around her knees, arms bared by a sleeveless black shirt that read "I've softened him up, now go in for the kill," stenciled across the front in white. Her hair was bright blue, chopped short in the back and falling into shoulder-length strands around her face. He wanted to grab her and drag her into the nearest empty room; he just grinned instead.

_Incapacitating..._

"Overhauling an engine." He shrugged. "I think."

"Why?"

"We ran out of things to take apart and put back together."

_Soon, the only things left to disassemble will be Kreacher, and me..._

"Oh." She sat down next to him, picking up a shiny chrome pipe. "What's this part do?"

"That's a muffler. It's where the exhaust would come out if it actually ran on petrol instead of magic."

"How do you know all this?"

"I read the owner's manual."

"Of course." She grinned and kissed him on the cheek."You smell like engine, love."

"Sorry." He caught her chin and kissed her gently, then ran his thumb over her upper lip, leaving a smudge of black under her nose.

"Not cool, Remus. Not cool." She grimaced at her reflection in the muffler, pushing blue hair back from her eyes.

"Hey!" He called to Sirius, who strode through the doorway with a bucket and a stack of silver and green monogrammed hand towels, apparently from the master bathroom. Remus pointed at Tonks' motor oil mustache. "Barty Crouch, or Adolf Hitler?"

"There's a difference?" He laughed darkly. "You know, Tonks, if you need to borrow my razor-"

"Stick it." She gripped the pipe like a bat and took a practice swing at Padfoot's knees.

"Come on, Dora." Remus pried the muffler from her hands. "Let's go get cleaned up, shall we?" He stood up and pulled her to her feet.

"You could just _terge_- Oh." Sirius grinned knowingly. "Never mind. Be on your merry way." He waved them out of the room with a wink. "If you see Kreacher, tell him I need my speedometer back."

Remus grabbed her hand and led her to the bathroom, picking her up to set her on the marble countertop of the sink.

"I take it you didn't apprehend and do-away-with Mr Black." He grinned, dabbing grease from her face with a towel. "Since he's been here with me all day, rolling in motor oil." She kicked him in the shin playfully. "I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

"Did you?" Tonks giggled. "I was only gone a few days."

He nodded. She sighed happily, then smiled and kissed him on the nose.

"I missed you too, grease monkey."

"Did you?"

She grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him close, wrapping her legs around his own. "What do you think?" Her arms slid around his neck and she kissed him again, her lips warm, wet, and tasting of lemon-lime soda.

"I think I can see down your shirt." He leaned into her, his forehead against hers, and hooked a finger in the collar of her shirt, taking in a view of pale skin, yellow satin and black lace. "Is it game day? Showing some house pride?"

"Don't make fun of my underthings, Moony, or that will be _all_ you see of them." She grabbed his finger and bit it.

"Vicious today, aren't we?" He kissed her slowly, running his fingers through her hair. "There wasn't any hope for _that_, anyway. I have duty with Kingsley tonight, the late shift."

"Do you want me to stay and wait up for you? I've a funny story about Moody, Dawlish, and a flock of ducks. You'll love it."

"Ducks, eh? Tempting though that sounds, you don't have to stay. I'd rather you go home, then I won't feel awful about making you wait up, and I can have my wicked way with you tomorrow."

"I have work tomorrow, the wickedness will have to wait."

"Tomorrow evening?"

"Full moon tomorrow evening." Tonks gave him a shocked look.

"I forgot."

"You _never_ forget."

"I blame you. I'm not going to lie, you've got me all hot and bothered with your shiny blue hair and Hufflepuff underoos."

"You're a git. And you let Sirius touch my records. You will be punished."

"Are you going to make me write lines?"

"Oh no, it will be much worse." She winked.

* * *

It was past three in the morning when Remus returned from guard duty with Kingsley- nothing out of the ordinary had happened, though he had heard a story about Nymphadora at the last Ministry Christmas party- featuring a bowl of punch, Umbridge, and a Muggle dance called 'The Electric Slide'. He reminded himself to ask Tonks about it the next day, if he saw her at all. He had considered, for a moment, stopping by her flat, but changed his mind at the last minute and apparated back to Grimmauld, content to take a hot shower and fall asleep, making peace with the fact that the only dreams he may have would likely be about motorbike parts. He almost fell asleep in the shower and decided it was time to call it a night, stumbling tiredly down the hall, pajama-clad and drying his hair with a towel as he walked.

"Lumos." The lamps flickered on dimly as he sat down on the bed, next to a sleeping, blue-haired someone. A tug on the corner of the blanket revealed that it was indeed, Nymphadora, in an interesting choice of red-and-gold striped sleepwear. "Hi."

_Yes, 'hi' is the only appropriate thing to say to the girl asleep in your bed, wearing nothing but a necktie._

"Hi. Sleeping. Light. Turn it off."

"I don't think I will." Remus grinned and wrapped his arms around her, though she tried to wiggle away from him. "Is that my tie? Is this revenge for making fun of your house? Or are you just showing your true colours?"

"Yes?" Tonks rubbed her eyes and yawned, giving him a look of drowsy confusion.

"I knew you were secretly a Gryffindor. You'd have to be fearless to go to bed with a werewolf. It's dangerous, you know."

"Dangerous?"

"Quite dangerous."

"Oh, yeah?" She laughed, nuzzling against his neck. "Prove it."

* * *

Reviewers get a locked-door snogfest with the smart-alecking, wooly-jumpering fiend of their choice;)


	12. Slip Against the Current

Disclaimer- These characters aren't mine. Ah, but you knew that already, and I'm sure I'll realize it someday;)

Author's Note- Sorry if it's been a while, folks! I've been on vacay in the mountains with my boyfriend/cuddly, bookish fellow in raggedy pants, the man to whom this chapter is dedicated (since he is the one that introduced me to HP in the first place, an act for which he is most repentant, in an almost Remus-like manner...lol).  
If you must know, the title is from "Vindicated", by Dashboard Confessional.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Slip Against the Current

"No, no. Try a G chord. On the third fret, Sirius."

"Like that?" A muted, hesitant strum sounded in the drawing room. "It's not as easy as I remember." The man's barky laugh cut through the mellow drone, echoing in the hall.

"Yeah, that's it. You'll pick it right back up, I'm sure." The first voice, a girl, said encouragingly."Now do the C, and then G again."

"Like so?"

"Right. Okay, now play that other part, and I'll do mine." Another guitar picked up a simple melody, the girl singing quietly, until they both lost rhythm and fell into laughter.

"Next time we'll have to play something I know...sound fair? Do you know anything by the Stones?"

"I'll see what I can do." She grinned at him.

"You're really good, Tonks." He set the instrument, a shiny, expensive-looking red number, carefully on the floor- a hollow thud followed by the discordant, rattling hum of six strings. "Why didn't you tell Moony you played guitar?"

"I-uh. I'm not really all that good, all I can play is a bunch of stupid rock songs. I thought he would think it was dumb, or something."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I just- It didn't seem like the kind of thing he'd like."

"Remus likes music. He likes all kinds of- like, he listens to _everything_. When we were in school, we listened to the Rolling Stones, and the Beatles, and I made him listen to punk with me. I guess he liked it. Never made me turn it off, anyway. He likes that, and that classical Mozarty shit, and blues, and swing, and all kinds of stuff."

"The Clash?" She laughed.

"Yeah, them too. I know he seems kind of a stiff sometimes, but he does know how to have fun, I made sure of that. And he told me that he saw you play guitar at that pub, and he said that it was _effing_ hot."

"Remus doesn't say '_effing_ hot'."

"Well, no. He said it was wicked awesome."

"That doesn't sound right either, Sirius."

"He said that it was 'incredible and made him want to shag you', or something to that effect, but with decasyllabic words and probably in prose."

"That sounds more likely." Tonks smirked, neon green hair stringing around her face as she leaned to turn a tuning peg on the guitar perched across her knees. The black-lacquered finish was chipped in more than a few places, cracked and careworn, and one of the little pearlescent dots, inlaid down the frets in the phases of the moon, was missing.

"So _where_ did you learn to play guitar?"

"Ah, well. At school. I kind of...blackmailed Bill Weasley and Associates into teaching me, in exchange for me not telling his mum about a party."

"A _party_?"

"Yep. I always got invited to the best parties." She grinned smugly.

"That, I don't doubt at all...but I thought Bill was a prefect?"

"No one ever suspects the prefect." A man standing in the doorway said quietly, smirking and eating chocolate ice cream from a pint-sized carton. His shirt was untucked, trousers rumpled and turned up around bare feet, and graying brown hair sticking out in every direction, giving the impression of someone who had just woken up from a very unrestful night's sleep. Both Tonks and Sirius looked up at him, seated across from each other like mismatched bookends, the same startled expression on both faces.

_Obviously no one ever suspects the cuddly, bookish fellow in raggedy pants, either. _

"Sneaking about, Moony? Employing your ninja-like prowess against us? This is naught but an innocent music lesson, no need to show off your stealth and tracking skills, however impressive they may be."

"Just checking in." He leaned against the doorframe and stirred the ice cream thoughtfully, taking a bite. "Making sure you're not plotting my demise, like last week. Did I hear you say you learned to play from Bill Weasley, Dora?"

"Nah, from one of his friends. Bill's no musician, he just dresses the part."

_This, from someone who looks like she walked off the Sex Pistols' tour bus..._

"That must've been some kind of party, to require guitar lessons as hush money."

"Hufflepuff parties were the _best_."

Remus and Sirius looked at each other in disbelief, the former breaking into a skeptical chuckle.

"I beg to differ. Gryffindor parties were the _best_-" Sirius sighed nostalgically and shook his head.

"_Are_ the best-"

"And will _continue_ to be the best-"

"Until the end of time, forever and ever, unto all eternity, amen."

"Who, Mr Moony," Sirius jumped in, assuming an affected, pompous tone, "Do you know that has a birthday in a few weeks? Could it be someone in this very room?" He rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger, raising a black eyebrow in question.

"I do believe so, Mr Padfoot, and I think this may be just the opportunity we need to show this birthday person how thrilling it is merely to _attend_ a real Gryffindor party, much less be the _guest of honor_." Remus walked to the sofa and collapsed next to Sirius, who slapped him on the knee in agreement. He winced and moved to the other end.

"I concur, Mr Moony. Any ordinary party will _not_ do. A Gryffindor party it is."

"In the style of the Marauders? Complete with drunken celebratory dances, ear-splittingly loud music, and gratuitous explosions?"

"In all likelihood, yes. You failed to mention 'brief-but-thorough nudity', ' excessively foul language', and 'reckless hospitalization' though."

Tonks' eyes darted between them suspiciously. "Surely you can't be serious."

"Oh, but he _is_." Remus grinned at her, licking the spoon. "And _don't_ call me Shirley."

* * *

"Dora."

"What?"

"I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Why do you love me?"

"For your rock-hard body." Tonks was idly flipping through the pages of her paperback; she had been reading aloud to him for the duration of the afternoon, from something by Stephen King- to be honest he hadn't been paying attention. Remus nuzzled against her neck, laying on top of her in the warm, quiet study, the afternoon light trickling through the windows and catching on her vivid green hair. The sofa was just big enough for comfortable snuggling, a fact they had discovered a few days previously, though through a slightly more naughty endeavor than the position they had assumed an hour ago. He had an arm wrapped around her neck, fingers working through her hair, his other hand under her navy blue mechanic's shirt that read 'Tonks Auto Repair' on a square white patch. Upon closer inspection, he found that it actually bore the legend 'Tony's Auto Repair'- someone had added an extra leg to the 'Y' to make a wonky, unbalanced-looking 'K', and he had a feeling that the shirt wasn't bought that way.

_I think she shops at the same thrift stores as me..._

"You didn't answer my question."

"Why I love you?"

"That's the one."

"Did too." She closed the book and tossed it to the floor. "'Rock-hard body', remember?"

"I find it hard to believe that _that_ is the only reason you spend the amount of time with me that you do. As a physical specimen, I am hardly worth a second glance."

_Much less a first glance._

"Remus," She laughed. "You're enough of a specimen for me, and I do far more than glance at you, as you well know."

"That's true. I still want to know why you love me, though. For the archives, you know. For my records."

"For the record, then? Okay, do you remember the first time we were assigned to work together? You remember our conversation on the way to the Ministry?"

_Of course I do, your hair was purple and you were wearing that shirt with stars printed all over the front..._

"You asked me if I was _the_ Moony from 'the Map'? You were trying to be vague and it wasn't working. What does this have to do with my question?"

_And you smelled like gingerbread..._

"Everything." She said simply. "And you asked me if I was was _the_ Tonks from 'Tonks Was Here', on the stairwell wall of the Shrieking Shack? You were a bit shocked, I guess you thought I was some kind of respectable auror, or something."

_And it was all I could do not to stare at you, and even more trouble to keep from sniffing you..._

"I was shocked at the graffiti beneath it, in the same handwriting, 'Gryffindor Sucks Flobberworms!', in three-foot tall yellow letters. So offensive!" He laughed against her neck, she pinched his shoulder indignantly.

"Like you've _never_ written _anything_ that insults the reader with a personalized stinging remark. 'The Marauders recognize the blundering stampede that is Miss Tonks, and kindly ask that she try not to accidentally catch the map on fire..._again_.'" She sniggered gleefully. "You wanted to know where I got the Map and I wouldn't tell you."

"You still won't tell me...Oh, and then we were walking down the road and you tripped on your shoelace and nearly got run over by a bus." He grinned, sliding his hand further under her shirt.

"You grabbed me and pulled me out of the way." Tonks sighed happily, moving his hand to a more comfortable spot.

"I think your exact words were," Remus moved his hand back to its previous position, fingers wrapped around her waist, tracing his thumb over her ribs. "-I believe you said, 'That happens more than I'd like to admit, actually, I usually just Apparate to my happy place when faced with oncoming traffic.' You were scared to death."

_And so was I..._

"I _was_ scared to death, of you, holding me like you were."

"Because I was a werewolf, Dora?" He asked, in a teasing whisper between kisses on her neck.

_No, that wasn't it at all...I knew it then, too._

"Because I had a horrible, _horrible_ crush on you." Tonks said matter-of-factly, seemingly oblivious to the man unbuttoning her shirt. "And then you were like, 'It's okay, I've always wanted to do that, you know, rescue a damsel in distress. I'm just glad it was from a bus and not a dragon, because I probably would've left you for it.' Yes, that's exactly what you said, brave, brave, brave, _braaave_ Sir Remus."

"That's still my contingency plan." He growled against her neck. "You'd better watch out..." She laughed, then gasped when he bit her, he felt her breath catch in her throat, felt her pulse accelerate against his mouth, her legs tangled around his and her fingers tearing at his shirt collar, pulling his hair when he pushed his hips against hers and sighed her name in her ear.

"I love you." They said it together, simultaneously, and then "I know," as he laced his fingers through hers. It had to be love, he knew, because she never let anyone take her over like she let him, and he never let anyone bring him to the edge of losing control like he let her. The things that made them so different from each other were actually what made them the same, all caught up in those dizzy seconds between kisses, moments that flared and flickered out like so much fire- something he couldn't hold on to, though the hotter it burned, the harder he tried not to let go.

* * *

"Hey, Tonks, do you want me to go put this in your room?" Sirius tapped on the guitar sitting on the sofa- he had just entertained them with a half-finished song, a folksy piece entitled 'The Walburga Waltz', composed entirely of two chords and an inordinate amount of distasteful references to his mother.

_That's sure to be a hit...at any rate it'll be stuck in my head for days..._

"No, you keep it. How are we _ever_ going to go multi-platinum if you don't practice?" She teased, bumping her knee against Remus', who had choked on his butterbeer when she said, "Just don't let the house elf get to it."

"Good idea. Oh, I forgot- while you two were, ahem..._occupied_, Moody stopped by."

_Uh-oh..._

"Did he?"

"What did he want?"

"Well, first he asked me for your," Sirius pointed at Tonks. "Current location at the time."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that his dear ickle Tonksy was with," he turned to point at Remus. "This fellow here...In one of two places."

Tonks wrinkled her nose in confusion. "What?"

"Either on top or on bottom!" Sirius cackled maniacally, applauding his own joke.

"You _didn't_."

"I did! I'm sorry, was that not the right thing to say?" He asked innocently.

_I should think not..._

"Are you going to defend my honor, or what?" She snorted indignantly, and elbowed Remus, who was trying to hide a grin and a nod in Sirius' direction, trying not to laugh.

"Oh, right. Padfoot," He sighed resignedly, glancing at his watch. "You should probably start running...Too late."

"Tonks! Tonks, call off your dog! Call off your dog!"

"You asked for reckless hospitalization, you're about to get it!"

"Help! I need an Auror!" There was an arm around Padfoot's neck, muffling his pleas for assistance. "Hwwp! Awrwr! Twnks! Hwwp!"

"Call me when you guys get to the 'brief-but-thorough nudity' part, 'kay?" Nymphadora said, watching them amusedly as they wrested each other to the floor. She took an unopened butterbeer and skipped out of the room, whistling over the sound of the scuffle behind her.

* * *

Reviews will recieve their choice of: breakfast ice cream with Remus, or a ballad written about them by Sirius (no guarantees, there) :D


	13. With Worse Luck and Far Less Gold

Disclaimer- These characters are not mine, I just use them like they were.

Author's Note- Chapter thirteen! Readers, be ye warned!  
The title is from Fall Out Boy's 'Sophmore Slump, or Comeback of the Year', because every girl needs a man that's well-read and poised...

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

With Worse Luck and Far Less Gold

He caught her at the door when she arrived, taking her arm and pulling her into the drawing room before she could make her way down the hall. The girl was pink-haired and windswept, darting in out of the dark with a smile and planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"You can't go in there yet."

"What? Why can't I go in there?"

"Oi, is that Tonks already?" A shaggy black head appeared in the doorway, followed by a body in an ill-fitting, old-fashioned suit topped off by a frilly blue apron. Sirius waved an oven-mitted hand in her direction."You're not allowed in the kitchen yet. I'm not done with the cake."

"Cake? Oh, hell. You let _Sirius_ bake a cake?"

"He wanted to."

_I don't bake...I always end up eating all the cake mix, and then there's nothing left to cook..._

"Have you been watching him? Have you made sure he hasn't laced it with LSD?"

_It's Sirius- so the cake is probably laced with firewhiskey. Or fire_crackers_. Or both..._

"Don't worry, Mrs Weasley gave me a recipe and I haven't strayed a step from its very strict ingredients- nothing suspicious in it whatsoever. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some icing to do, so just calm your pretty little self down and do whatever it is you two do when I leave the room." He gave Tonks a menacing look, then grinned and sprinted out of the room, apron strings fluttering, and muttering, "too much time with Mad-Eye Moody, paranoia must be contagious."

She watched him in amused silence, ducking her head around the door.

"Was he-" Tonks spun around, thumb pointing over her shoulder in nose-wrinkled disbelief. "Was he wearing an...apron?"

"I'm afraid so." Remus Lupin nodded solemnly. "It does look rather confusing, doesn't it?"

"Where's _your_ apron?" She looked him over, stepping closer to straighten the lapels on his suit- one Sirius had found in a closet upstairs, and it actually fit, though it was almost as threadbare as everything else he owned, and even more antiquated.

"I wasn't cooking, you see." He shrugged again, fighting a smirk. "So I wasn't allowed one. Sad, I thought. Not very fair at all. I feel discriminated against."

"I- I'm sorry." She walked around him in a slow circle, a familiar, perplexed half-smile on her pale face, one he recognized, one that usually made him blush.

_Quit staring at me like you want to undress me, or I may have to let you do it._

"This is a drawing room, not a roundabout, you know."

"Oh," she said, though not completely snapping out of her daze. "Um, yes."

"What _are_ you looking at?" He seized her arm and pulled her close, slipping off her leather jacket, shoulders bared by a black lace halter dress that clung to her hips and flared out around her knees. "Sirius was insistent about the dress code, I'm sorry."

_Can't we just skip the party and go straight to bed?_

"You look very...Gatsby?"

"I didn't know you were a fan of Fitzgerald, Dora."

"I steal your books when you're not looking," Tonks admitted absently, straightening his tie and combing his hair back with her fingers.

"That's fine." He smiled and threw her coat over the back of the nearest chair, then grabbed her, pulled her against his chest and kissed her forcefully, a smirk on his face when she stood on her toes to whisper in his ear.

"Can't we just skip the party and-"

"Bloody fecking HELL!" There was a scream, the sound of someone running down the hall, a resounding boom hot on their heels. Both darted out into the hall, met by a singed Sirius, a puff of greenish smoke, and the disturbing wail of his mother's portrait.

"What happened?" Remus shouted over the shrieks. Tonks ran around him to close the drapes on the painting, stumbling as she went, the laces of her trainers swinging like the skirt of her dress.

_Doesn't she know how to tie her shoes?_

"Kreacher sabotaged the stove again!" Sirius was fuming, fists clenched in rage. "That's the second time, and earlier I caught him trying to break my mirror-he almost did! Diabolical little bastard."

"Mirror? Oh." He took a step backwards. "_That_ mirror. Well, that's no good."

"No." His apron was now spattered with soot and icing. Sirius huffed, crossing his arms."But anyways, the cake is strewn about the kitchen in ruination."

"We can try and fix it...or is there anything left to fix?"

"Not really, no, but it's okay." Sirius dropped his voice to a whisper."Have you given the pink-haired one her present yet?"

"I was about to, but then you know, you ran down the hall screaming like a girl." Remus said, low and grinning. "If we're using code names, you're going to have to think of something less clever, I almost didn't know who you were talking about."

"I'm going to go clean up." He ripped the apron off as he stormed down the hall, and hung it over the neck of one of the taxidermied house elves.

"What are we doing? Is the kitchen on fire?"

"Sirius accidentally blew up the cake."

Tonks nodded, unsurprised. "And?"

"Well, now we don't have a cake." Remus took her hand and pulled her to the sofa, fishing a thin, worn black velvet case from his pocket. "But I have something almost as good." He had thought about what to get her- he couldn't _get_ her anything, he was fresh out of money. She didn't like cut flowers much, she stole _his_ books, and had every album ever made...his options were few and far between.

"What's in there?" Tonks eyed him, and then the box, with wary interest. Her voice was unusually quiet after the sudden onslaught of noise that had just taken over the hall.

"Something shiny. Don't worry, it's harmless." He grinned.

"What is it?"

He opened the box and put it in her waiting hand.

"Remus...This looks really expensive."

_Silly girl. Just take it and don't worry..._

"It probably was."

"What do you mean, 'It probably was'?"

"I mean, I didn't buy it, so I don't know how much it cost."

She set the box in her lap, tracing her fingers over age-stained white satin, on which rested a thin, silvery chain and a star sapphire, although Remus had always though it looked more like a teardrop- cut in the same shape, a forlorn, faded blue.

"It's beautiful." A look of longing flashed across her face as she picked up the chain, or it might have been a trick of the light, refracting off the tiny stone- he wasn't sure. "What do you mean 'you didn't buy it'?"

"It was my mum's...I never saw her wear it though. Well, actually, it was her mother's, and I think her grandmother's before that, kind of an heirloom, I guess-" It was one of the few things he had left from his parents, the only things they hadn't wanted him to sell; the house, his mother's necklace, his father's piano, and of course, the books.

"-You can't give me this." Her dark eyes were round with shock.

"I just did."

"You can't, this belongs to you. What if- what if you? You may- you'll need it someday, you can't give this to me."

He laughed. "I'm pretty sure I won't need it- I wouldn't ever sell it, and I don't wear it..."

_That's not what she meant..._

"That's not what I meant."

"I won't need it," He said firmly, taking her hand again, bringing it up to press his lips against her knuckles. "And I think it would look nice on you, so at least try it on. For me?"

"Okay."

* * *

_"_Truth or dare, Remus?"

"Dare." They had been sitting around the parlor for the past two hours, having started out playing Exploding Snap and mourning the loss of the cake by drinking to its memory several times. Moody and Kingsley had stopped by earlier for a round of cards and had stayed until time for their shift of guard duty at the Ministry, and now it was just the three of them, sitting on the floor in their party finery. Sirius had already been dared to eat a bug, which he had done, after Tonks had found one and brought it to him. She was enjoying it, they hadn't dared her to do anything, mostly out of fear because they both remembered what had happened during the last game.

_Pride of Gryffindor house, we are..._

_"_I dare you...to..." She tapped a finger on her chin, looking towards the ceiling, a smug smile playing on her lips.

_This has 'catastrophe' written all over it..._

_"..._kiss Sirius."

"No."

"Eww! Merlin only knows where Moony's mouth has been."

_On your little cousin, you git..._

"Dare."

"I take it back-" He raised a hand in protest.

"-Can't. That's against the rules."

"She's never going to let this go, don't you remember what happened last time?." Sirius hissed at him. "Just get it over with."

"No! That's disgusting! And he just ate a cricket! That's even more disgusting!"

"You made the rules, it wouldn't be fair if you didn't abide by them as well." She raised a pink eyebrow at him over her glass of firewhiskey. "Consequences and repercussions, you know..."

_By which she means, "Payback is a bitch, Lupin. It's just comeuppance for the last time we played this little game..."_

He didn't have a chance to protest further, as Padfoot seized him by the shirt to shake him violently, laughing hysterically.

"Take me, Remus!"

"Take you where?" He asked, deadpan and unblinking. "I'm low on cash, and you need a jacket..."

Sirius pulled him forward by the collar and kissed him loudly, right on the lips, then pushed him away. Neither could bring himself to look at the other for several awkward moments, until Remus elbowed Sirius in the ribs, his stage-whisper barely audible over the sound of smothered giggles.

"You might want to get yourself checked out, mate."

There was a snort behind them, and both men turned to see Molly and McGonagall standing in the doorway, the former red-cheeked and clutching an intricately iced yellow and black cake with sunflowers on top, the latter thin-mouthed, holding two paper-wrapped parcels to her chest.

_Oh, hell._

"Why, hello Professor! My, don't you look...plaid, this evening. And Molly! You look very, erm, Weasleyish. It's getting late, we didn't think anyone else would be over-"

"That is painfully apparent, Mr Black." McGonagall deposited the gifts on the sofa, lips still pressed together- the corner of her mouth twitching.

"I'll just put this in the kitchen." Molly turned to walk out of the room, shaking her head.

"Are you having a nice birthday, Tonks?" Minerva talked over the two men sitting on the floor, one with his face buried in his hands, the other studying the bottom of his glass intently. Tonks was sitting on the floor with her bare feet infront of her, spinning a gold paper crown around her finger, wearing his favourite self-satisfied, mischievous smirk.

_If you weren't so cute, you'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble right now..._

"It's been absolutely wonderful, thanks," She said pleasantly, jumping up to shake her hand.

"Happy Birthday, Tonks. What a lovely necklace! Did you get that for your birthday?" The Weasley matriarch reappeared and wrapped the girl in a tight hug, admiring her jewelry.

"I did, actually." She leaned closer and whispered something to Molly, winking at Remus over her shoulder. "Thanks for the cake."

"Speaking of which, I think I'll go get a piece." He hastily climbed to his feet. "Does anyone else want-"

"I'll take a piece, please."

"Cut one for me, darling." Sirius beamed at him, batting his eyelashes.

"If I were you, I'd cease and desist before I end up hanging from the ceiling by my ankle."

"Whatever you say, dear."

* * *

"Can't sleep either, eh?" Sirius was sitting in the stairwell, in the half-light of the gas lamps, drinking a butterbeer and smoking. "Back for more?" He wiggled his eyebrows, grinning.

"You are a disturbing man." Remus shook his head, sitting down next to him. "And that was very, very against my rules." Padfoot proffered the cigarette pack and he took one, conjuring a fire in his hand to light it. They sat in amiable silence for a few minutes, it was well past two in the morning, the house was completely empty but for the two of them and the girl upstairs.

"What rules?"

"The "I don't snog other blokes" rule, in particular."

"I take it you don't remember James' seventeenth, then." He chuckled, shaking his head and Remus shoved him into the wall, laughing.

"If my memory serves me, and it does, we were playing Spin-the-Bottle and that was a _girl_."

"Could've fooled me." He grinned again. "We haven't done this since we were kids, y'know."

"What, snuck out to smoke in dark hallways in the middle of the night?"

"I meant 'had fun', but yeah, that too."

"Based on our previous actions this evening, one would be under the impression that we _are _kids. As for that, I'm sorry about the whole Levicorpus thing."

_Even though you totally deserved it..._nobody_ calls me 'darling'._

"Abnormally overgrown," Sirius flicked ash onto the carpet. "Slightly intoxicated children. It's okay, I deserved it, and McGonagall thought it was funny...I'm sorry about the angry canaries. That didn't bleed too much, did it?"

"No, it's fine."

They fell into silence again, no sound but that of the gas lamps sputtering on the wall above their heads.

"So, d'you give Auror Tonks her birthday spankings, then?"

"No!" Remus said abashedly, laughing through smoke. "No, she's asleep." Nymphadora had fallen into a tipsy, half-awake state as he'd kissed her, intent on giving her the same style of birthday present she gave him a few months ago, and with his plans foiled, he had headed down to the kitchen in search of leftover cake. Now she was soundly asleep on his bed, wearing his pajamas, the little sapphire necklace still glittering around her throat.

"How _disappointing_." Sirius teased, elbowing him. "You should be, as well."

"Disappointed?"

"No, asleep. Why would _you_ be disappointed?"

"I'm not. Why aren't _you_ asleep?"

"I've been thinking..." Sirius exhaled heavily, trying to hide a troubled sigh. "You remember that time in school, when I accidentally let slip where you were, and Snape-"

"Yeah, that." He cut in, sparing his friend the rest of the recollection, which wasn't pleasant, and obviously still weighed on his conscience.

_You could've gotten us all killed...or worse, expelled._

"-And you remember me telling you this morning, that I got pissed off at Kreacher and told him to leave...?" His voice fell flat, emotionless.

_Bloody hell._

"Remus," He said, in a sober tone, most unlike himself. "I think I may have fucked things up again."

* * *

Review! or suffer the wrath of the Marauders!


	14. Starless

Disclaimer!: These characters do indeed belong to someone else, though with all the work I've put into them they should be living, breathing entities by now...

Author's Note!: I've been noticeably absent, haven't I? My apologies- I have no excuse, but I am pleading guilty due to temporary insanity...

Title is from the eponymous song by Crossfade, because sometimes it's hard to get down to words the way we fit into this world...

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Starless

Typically, by this time of gray early morning the sleeping girl would have kicked her blankets to the floor, arms and ankles hanging off the bed in a spread eagle sprawl. She was a fitful sleeper, he knew, having been kneed and elbowed by the dozing Dora more than a few times. He watched her like he had done for the past ten hours, edging in and out of his own state of semi-awareness. It wasn't quite sleep, just a ghostly, frostbitten lack-of-feeling. But he _was_ awake now, tired blue eyes locked on the slight rise and fall of her chest like one would watch an eclipse- it hurt to look... but he couldn't look away. Her peaceful repose was troubling, though he knew that she'd been given a drink for dreamless sleep. It bothered him to see her so _still_. Not moving. He leaned forward against the bed, resting his chin on his folded arms.

"Wotcher," a thin voice whispered, hoarse as his own.

"Hi." He whispered back, taking the hand that brushed the hair back from his eyes and holding her fingers to his lips.

_Yes, 'Hi' is the only appropriate thing to say to the girl who fell down the stairs and nearly got herself killed..._

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." She smiled, sitting up. It took effort, she only had one arm to prop herself up with- the other was wrapped in a sling, held against her chest. He reached out to steady her, but she pushed his hand away gently. "I'm okay. How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"You didn't have to stay."

"Where would I go, Dora?" It slipped out sounding harsh, not like he'd meant at all. The girl tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear and frowned worriedly.

"I'm sorry-"

"I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," They said together, she looked down, straightening her blankets. "You know, you can go to my place if you want, if you need to sleep. You look tired, and those chairs aren't very comfortable-"

"I was instructed not to leave."

"By who? Moody? 'Cause I've more of a right to boss you around than he does-"

"By Ginny, right before they sent the children back to school. She was insistent that I stay with you." The youngest Weasley had stopped him personally, to ask about Harry, to ask where Tonks and Sirius were...she didn't know what had happened, trapped on the floor with a broken ankle. It hadn't surprised him that Harry would come rushing to Sirius' aid. The boy was his father made over; neither of them would have ever left a friend's life hanging in the balance, even if it meant his own. It was no surprise that Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna would accompany him, and it certainly wasn't shocking that Harry would start his own sort of Defense class; in fact, Remus was rather proud of him for using his past experiences to teach his friends how to defend themselves...since they weren't learning it in class.

_Those kids are more fearless than the majority of the Order..._

"Gin?" Tonks shook her head, then winced, still recovering from the night before. "How is she? How's Harry? Are they okay? What about the others?"

"They're a little worse for wear, but they'll be fine."

"But Harry?" Her voice broke, but she straightened up and frowned again.

"I didn't get to see him before he went back."

_Yet fools named Black rush in where Aurors fear to tread..._

He had done his best to explain to Dora what had happened, before she had passed out. She obviously remembered the main idea of what he had told her between moments of unconsciousness, while the Healers had set her broken bones and administered potions. Sirius is dead, he had said as calmly as he could manage, and she had nodded just as calmly, teeth clenched in an effort to keep from screaming as someone pushed her fractured collarbone back into place. Bellatrix did it, he'd said. Those three words set her off, she lost her composure. "I'll kill her," she snarled, digging her fingers into his arm. "_I'll fucking kill her_." He shook his head and combed a strand of hair back from her cheek. Revenge is overrated...and it would be highly unnecessary for Dora to risk her life when _he_ was so willing to go out and obliterate the murderous bitch himself.

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

_Do you think _you'll _be alright, Moony?_

Remus bit his lip and sighed, answering both her question and his own.

"Eventually."

* * *

He moved automatically, hurriedly, from room to room, helping Moody pack up the things the Order had left- all of his belongings were there, they all fit in one trunk. Everything Tonks had left fit in with his things, she hadn't had much at headquarters. A few sets of clothes, a toothbrush, an old photo album, a stack of LP's, and her guitar. Nymphadora was still in St. Mungo's, and had only allowed him to leave on the strict conditions that he return with some decent tea and her turquoise dressing gown.

He walked through Grimmauld, absently flicking spells left and right, vanishing the dishes and glasses that had been abandoned the night before. A few other Order members were there, collecting possesions and tidying up; they tried to avoid him, avoided looking him in the eye at all costs.

"Did he leave a will? Do you know?" Moody clapped a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in the kitchen door. The old auror was businesslike, but kind, what Remus would have liked from the rest of the Order. He'd been through this before, about fifteen years ago...after losing every one of his closest friends in the span of twenty-four hours. He had done his share of grieving, had had enough of people grieving for his sake; he was past the anger, the denial. It was definitely a struggle to work around the gaping empty space that his friend had left once again, the hollow, void feeling that he couldn't shake...But Sirius wouldn't want him- no, would have never _allowed_ him to drown in self-pity and grief, not now.

"He did."

"We're going to need it, do you know where it is?"

"Upstairs, I'll go."

It was where they had left it, tucked into the flyleaf of the motorcycle owner's manual in Padfoot's room. He had known exactly where it was, having helped Sirius write it himself, because that's what friends are for, he thought. To help deal with things that no one really wants to deal with. Remus had written it out nearly eight months ago, in his own neat hand, acting as witness...and now as executor of estate. Sirius had never been much for penmanship, and didn't trust anyone else to handle his affairs, fearing that it would lack the proper "eloquently-worded elegiac poetry, copious amounts of hard liquor, and the obligatory deeds of questionable morality(or acts of dubious legality, whichever you prefer, Moony) performed in honor of my memory that the event of my death would require."

_I can't believe you actually made me include that in the opening clause, Padfoot..._

Neither of them had given a second thought to what it actually represented, the will. A legal termination of existence, a dissolution of belongings, until nothing is left but a piece of paper that represents what a person once was. He slipped the envelope from the pages. It was already grease-stained from its previous home, smudged with black fingerprints; quintessentially Sirius, he left his mark on everything, everyone. Remus put it in his coat pocket and made his way downstairs again, slamming the door behind him. A handful of dust fell from the molding, scattering on the floor, and he realized for the first time how much he disliked 12 Grimmauld Place.

_At least you're out of this hellhole now, mate..._

He hadn't had much to dole out, at any rate. His house, everything in it, the motorbike, and the reluctant house elf fell into Harry's possesion, which was only right. He had felt hesitant about leaving the residence to the boy; he thought Harry would want to live there even less than he did. They had gone through the enchantments on the house together, breaking the ones that would tie it to the Black family lineage, casting new spells that would keep it from falling into the wrong hands.

"Well, anyways..." Sirius had said, closing the envelope as they sat at the kitchen table. "I hope I go before you do."

"Why?"

"Who will I make fun of if you go first?" Morose jokes were nothing to him, to either of them. Sometimes death, they had both found, can be far more kind than life; for those who had experienced hell on earth, death no longer held the fear that most assign it. Or maybe they _were_afraid, and so, treated death with the same mocking irreverance they gave everything else that was to be feared...

"Who will I complain about if _you_ go first?"

"Hmm. Good point. Not to mention I'd probably have to, y'know, _console _Tonks if you died." He grimaced. "And that would just be so _horrible_ to endure_. _I don't think I could stand it _at all_."

"Maybe if _you_ mysteriously died, she'd let _me_ console her..."

"How morbid!" Sirius laughed delightedly. "Is that what it'd take to get her in bed with you?"

"Do you mind helping me test the theory?"

"I'll meet you in the lab, Professor. Just one thing, though..."

"What's that?"

"No pet cemeteries." He grinned. "Unless it's one of those fancy ones with a statuary...and make sure to bury me next to a good-looking collie." Sirius chuckled, twirling a quill in his fingers.

"You have my word." Remus passed him a lit candle. "Statues, good-looking collie, and everything. Shall I build a shrine to your memory, as well?"

"If you want. But in lieu of flowers, have everyone donate a dirty magazine to the Defense professor of their choice."

"Thoughtful of you." He said dryly, "But I'd rather have the money."

"Ah, yes...that's right- you don't need supplemental reading material, _you_ just fantasize about my kid cousin."

"I do no such thing, and I resent your baseless accusations."

_However accurate they may be..._

"Anybody ever tell you that you're not a very good liar, Remus?"

They both laughed as he dripped a pool of black wax on the paper, let it cool a moment, and stuck his thumb in it. He gave the envelope a bemused glance, then smirking, pushed four little circles above the thumbprint, in an arch.

"No mistaking who that belongs to." He scrawled his name underneath the paw-print seal with a flourish.

"Definitely the Grim's finest handiwork yet."

"I'll drink to that."

"You'll drink to _anything_."

"See, Moony?" He uncorked a butterbeer and took a swig. "You're so just so _good_ at telling the truth."

* * *

"Do you want to stay at my place?" A hospital robe flew over the top of the partition and landed on the tiled floor. Tonks was changing back into her normal clothes, if a pair of holey black jeans and a shirt with a picture of Sigmund Freud on the front could be considered normal. He sat on the edge of the bed, on the far side of the curtain hanging between them.

_Too bad she doesn't have a Kübler-Ross shirt..._

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to stay with me for a week or two."

She stuck her head around the corner and looked at him, clearly puzzled. "What?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to stay with me, so that I can look after you, make sure you take the right potions at the right times...keep you from overdosing, or falling down the stairs again...things like that."

"Stay with...you? Where?" A smile tugged at her lips.

"At my _house_, Dora." He smiled back at her.

"You have a...house?"

_Why does no one_ ever _believe me when I tell them this?_

"Yes, I have a house. Surprising, isn't it?" He teased her, grinning.

"Oh." She shook her head. "I mean, _of course _you have a house." Tonks disappeared behind the partition again. "Sure, I'll stay with you. Where is it, though?"

"Ah, that's another thing I need to talk to you about."

_You're the only one I would trust with this, now..._

"What's that?" This time, only her dark eyes peered around the corner at him. He didn't tell her that she looked just like her cousin, the dark circles under her eyes, the cheekbones, even her nose was the same. The same as Bellatrix. The same as her mother, Andromeda, whom he'd met for the first time earlier that afternoon. Nymphadora had eagerly introduced him as her boyfriend, and then sent him on an errand to fetch her a sandwich or two, her kind of clever ruse to spare him yet another retelling of the incident at the Ministry three nights ago.

"I need some assistance in the uh, secret-keeping business."

"I don't know, that's kind of serious..." She gave him a wide-eyed look, fingers pulling the curtains closed around her neck as a Healer walked down the hall outside the room, studying a medical chart.

"Well, it _was_ Sirius, you know. Before..."

_Before he fucked things up, again..._

She clapped a hand over her mouth, mumbling. "I didn't know-"

"It's fine, Nymphadora."

"You should've said-"

He reached out and caught her by the chin, cupping her face in his hand. She stared up at him concernedly, then pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed him softly on the lips, then on his cheek, whispering in his ear.

"I'll keep your secrets." She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled.

They both jumped at the sound of a woman clearing her throat. The Healer, who had been standing in the doorway, shot them an odd look as she walked over to give Tonks a piece of parchment.

"What's this, another release form? Where do I sign?"

"No, that's a list of the things you aren't supposed to do until you're fully recovered." The woman turned and left, shaking her head.

"Not supposed to do?" Tonks stepped back and shut the curtain again. He heard her stumbling around and swearing, a familiar noise; the sound of her trying to get dressed without falling over.

_For someone so good at getting _undressed_, you'd think she'd be a little better at this by now..._

A moment later, she stepped out again, fully dressed and reading intently. "Wait, what? A week! Oh, no...Remus?"

"What, love?"

She grinned wickedly at the paper in her hand- the Black smirk that he couldn't seem to escape, the one that asked tauntingly, 'Is that all you've got? Is that the best you can do?'

"You're not going to like number twenty-seven...It's too bad, I know you were planning on counting _that_ towards your act of questionable morality."

* * *

In lieu of flowers...


	15. This Surely is a Dream

Disclaimer- I don't own these characters, but that doesn't stop me from messing around with them, now does it?

Author's Note- Time to counteract the angst, if only for a moment. Ten points to anyone that can tell me the name of the title's song, it's one of my favorites;)

* * *

This Surely is a Dream

"Favourite colour?"

"Ah. I don't know. I think I like teal best."

"Which teal? There are more shades than one."

"Hmm. The color of your robe."

"That's turquoise."

"Yes, that. I like it."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. What about you?"

"Me? I like white."

"White?"

"Like white light- it's all colours, in equal proportions."

"Interesting. I've never thought of it that way..."

They had been playing the game for most of the evening, both of them stretched out on a blanket in the tall grass. It had been sunny earlier; now the sky was overcast and threatening to rain.

"Okay, here's another. When was your first kiss?"

"I was sixteen."

"Where was it? Was it good?"

"We were behind Honeydukes, and it was...awkward. What about you, Dora?"

"I was seventeen." She smirked. "Behind Honeydukes?"

"Seventeen?" He asked, speculatively. The grass swayed in the breeze, which was soft and scented of lilacs from the bushes that grew around the house.

"I wasn't into boys much back then..."

"No?" He laughed. "What were you into 'back then'? Vampires? Centaurs? _Girls_?"

"No! I just had other things on my mind. For example, graduating with the grades to make it into auror training."

"Fair enough. Where, then?"

"At a Weird Sisters concert..."

_Only you, Nymphadora..._

"But of course. Was he much, much older than you?" He was only teasing, but she blushed. "Well?"

"He was twenty," She paused, grimacing as she rolled over to lay on her stomach. "...Four."

_Twenty-four?_

"Twenty-four!"

"Well, I didn't know it at the time-"

"Twenty-four...?"

"And he didn't know I was seventeen. I _can _make myself look older, you know..." She conceded, sitting up. He lay on the ground, arms behind his head, regarding her with a look that was equally intrigued and reproachful. "Which obviously was a mistake. _Quit _looking at me like that, Remus. Honestly."

"Honestly? I don't know what to think of this-"

"You're much better than he was. At kissing, and being a nice person, and you're better at spells, and you're _much_ better looking, but you're probably not as good at drumming," She rambled. "But that's okay. I'm cool with that."

"A drummer?"

_Seventeen year-old Dora kissed a thirty year-old drummer?_

"Twenty-four," She corrected, as if reading his mind. "That's only seven years."

_Well, you could always take comfort in the fact that you're her type- older, financially instable...all you lack is musical talent..._

He frowned. Nymphadora shot him a glare and continued. "You're much better in bed, anyway."

"What?!" He sat up, wide eyed and stricken, hair mussed, a smudge of dirt on his nose.

"Just kidding, jeez." Tonks grinned, snickering. "I've never slept with a drummer. Or a guitarist. Or a concert pianist, for that matter. You've mud on your nose."

He wrapped his arms around his knees and peered sternly at her from under the shock of brown hair that fell in his eyes. "And who's fault is _that_?"

It had been a week since the disaster in the Department of Mysteries; neither he nor Tonks had been on any Order assignments since then. Nymphadora was staying with him, 'way out in the middle of nowhere' she had dubbed it, though it was only a few miles from Godric's Hollow. She had jumped up and down with delight at the sight of his house, dusty and tangled in an unkempt garden though it was. The place wasn't much, he thought. The house was old, built of stone and crumbling, held together by nothing but magic in some places. But it was quaint in a nice way, and bright; there were more windows on just one side of the house than in the whole of Grimmauld.  
"Where's your room?" She'd asked cheerfully, just inside the garden gate, with her black guitar slung over her shoulder. He liked how that looked; his girlfriend at his house, in his sitting room, in his garden, in his bed. It was idyllic...and he felt that it was somehow supposed to be disheartening too, but couldn't remember why.

"Well, I imagine that it's my fault, I mean, I know lots of musicians."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "That's not what I meant."

"Okay, I'm _sorry _about the mud, but you deserved it."

"I was only asking if you wanted to help me de-gnome the garden..."

"Yeah, like you didn't mean it metaphorically _at all_." Her laughter echoed in the orchard behind his house. The Muggle neighbor's horses snorted and pricked up their ears, looking over the stone fence in curiousity.

"You jump to conclusions _and _sling mud...you could work for the Daily Prophet."

Tonks rolled her eyes, then grinned. " What can I say? You look good dirty."

"I can't help that."

"You look good wet, too." She winked.

As of today, she was officially done with the regimen of potions that had been sent home with her and was allowed to morph again- something which she was quite excited about, and had spent all morning running through different hair colours. The shade of the hour was a silvery blue that she had emulated, taken from her reflection in the pond behind the house...after she had pushed Remus in from the highest bank, a good ten feet above the water, following his comment about swimsuits being unnecessary, since they were 'way out in the middle of nowhere'.

_I suppose I deserved that..._

"Is it cold?" She'd called out tauntingly, balanced precariously on the edge.

"Bloody cold, Nymphadora." He'd yelled, standing soaked to the skin in shoulder-deep water. "It's bloody cold...You know that won't stop me, I don't know why you even try."

"Ha! And you know we're not allowed to do _that_ until tomorrow! Or else you'll injure me, and that'll void the warranty and you won't get a full refund when you have to take me back to St. Mungo's!"

His shirt was still the tiniest bit damp as he lay back on the blanket again, recovering from the slight heart-attack she had given him. Tonks sat cross-legged next to him, twirling a blade of grass in her fingers, wearing a satisfied smile.

"Another question, then?"

"Let's have it."

"Hmm...Ever been in a fistfight?"

"Once." Thunder sounded, a muffled rumble in the distance, bringing with it the metallic taste of electricity in the air.

"With who?"

"Sirius."

Tonks made a face, like she was afraid she had struck a nerve. It had been a week since he had seen Sirius, the last time he'd seen him. Things would never go back to normal, he knew, having never been normal in the first place. It would take time to get used to the awkward silent spots left in conversations, the places that Sirius had always taken upon himself to fill. Tonks did the same thing, he noticed, telling jokes or asking him questions to direct the conversation casually away from the topic...he couldn't tell her that it didn't matter, that every time he looked at her he was reminded of his best friend, but he had the feeling that she probably knew it.

"It's okay." He smiled at her. Things were at a solid state now; he knew the truth about Sirius and that made all the difference. He could move on.

"Why- what were you fighting about?"

"I- erm...Did I ever tell you about that time he let Snape on to the whole furry problem bit?"

"Yeah? _Oh_...?"

"I broke his nose." Remus paused, then chuckled. "I wish you could've seen his face, it was priceless. He was in complete shock, and then he starts laughing, with this bloody nose oozing all over his homework, and he said 'Fuck, Moony! I think you just broke my nose,' like he was impressed, or something...so then I gave him a black eye to go with it. James had to pull me off him in the end, and he just sat there on the floor, laughing like a madman. He came around later, apologised for nearly getting us all killed. And then he congratulated me on my boxing skills."

_And_ then _he asked me to show him how to throw a punch..._

She snickered, stretching her arms out. "Yeah, that sounds like Sirius." Tonks gave him a grin, shaking her blue hair back to a bright pink, picked up from flashes of lightning in the clouds high above them.

"Did you see that little 'Beware of Dog' sign on the wall out front?"

"I thought I recognized that handwriting..."

"That's been there since I was 16...well, you know how he likes...liked his Sticking Charms."

"What'd your parents think?"

"Mum and Dad didn't care, I think they were just glad I had friends. I think they were glad to have other kids around, too. I was an only, you know, so it was like having brothers." He cleared his throat and continued. "It was fun, the guys spent quite a few summers here. Sirius and James were always flirting with my mum...and Dad liked motorbikes and Quidditch, so they had something in common. Pete was always too shy, he never did stay over." He frowned. "Though he might have just been scared of our cat."

"You had a cat?"

"At one time, yes, but it didn't spend too much time around me, if you can imagine. The poor thing got on better with James than anyone...It was _terrified _of me, and Sirius was always trying to wear it as a hat."

Nymphadora laughed, poking him in the ribs. "You miss him."

"I really do." It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would, to finally say it out loud. She kissed him on the forehead, wrapping her arms around his neck. The breeze picked up, a bit colder than before and heavy with the scent of lilacs and humidity. A drop of rain hit her wrist, trickling down her arm and onto his shoulder.

"It's raining." She whispered, snuggling closer to him. "Do you want to go in?"

He shook his head, sitting up again as the rain started to fall. "No."

"Is this revenge for shoving you into the pond?"

"You could think of it that way."

Tonks sighed resignedly, but she smiled. "Go ahead, then."

He grinned and tackled her onto the blanket, pinning her down to nip at her neck.

* * *

Earlier in the afternoon he and Tonks had gone to London, to meet Harry and the rest of the kids at the train station before they all went home for the summer. Most of the Order had been there and of course, the Weasleys and the Grangers. The Dursleys were there, and just as horrid as he'd imagined them from Harry's descriptions. He hadn't had a chance to talk to the boy, so he tracked down the one person he knew would tell him what was going on.

"He hasn't said much about, well, anything, really." Ginny Weasley shook her bright red hair, frowning. "'Mione said she tried to get him to talk about Sirius, but Ron wouldn't let her. Other than that, he seems to be doing okay. He hasn't tried to, y'know, go after that Lestrange lady or anything. What about you?"

"What?"

"Are _you _okay?" She patted him on the arm, concernedly.

"I'm fine..?" It struck him as odd, no one but Tonks had asked him how he'd felt. The rest just strayed around the topic, though they now actually looked at him... but in a pitying way that he found slightly annoying. "I'm fine. Thanks, Ginny."

"No prob. I'm just glad you and Harry are okay." She said simply, and nodded towards the girl chatting with Hermione's parents, who were fascinated by her colour-shifting hair. "How's Tonks?" She laughed. "Besides being a show-off?"

"She's doing better. Happy to be able to show-off again, obviously."

"Hey, Gin." Ron and Hermione came over from the group standing near the tracks. "Hey Professor...what's up?"

"Oh, we were just discussing the effectiveness of using multiple hexes against Inquisitorial Squad members." Ginny looked at her watch, and grinned knowingly. As if on cue, a piercing shriek rang from down the platform, followed by the source; a thin, pale woman with white-blonde hair... Narcissa Malfoy, and following behind her something that resembled a slug stuffed into a Hogwarts uniform.

_Multiple hexes against Inquisitorial Squad members?_

"I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not." The severe-looking blonde woman stalked past them with her jaw set. He saw Nymphadora turn distractedly from her conversation with the Grangers, watching her aunt's retreat with great interest.

"Why, hello Narcissa! Fancy seeing you here!" Tonks called after her, amiably. "Draco! You look more like your father every day."

Remus slammed a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

_I'll have to remember to tell Padfoot about th- Dammit._

* * *

He was in King's Cross again, though now it was flooded with waist-deep water from the incessant rain that tore down through the broken ceiling. Lightning was flashing above in a sickly green.

"Looks like you've really fucked things up this time, Moony." A familiar voice called. It was Sirius, sitting on a floating steamer trunk a few feet away. He kicked his feet in the water, splashing.

"What'd I do?"

"Nothing, yet." Sirius shook his head. "Crazy weather we're having, eh?"

_What the hell?_

"I guess...? Where's Dora?"

"Who?"

"Tonks, your cousin. Is she here?"

"If that's her." He pointed to a girl standing in the water, half-hidden by a brick barrier.

"Dora?" She stared at him sadly, expectantly, as if she wanted him to follow, and then turned to leave, brown hair dripping down her back.

"Hey, wait!" He started after her, slipping in the current as he tried to make it across to where she was slowly moving away, hardly making a ripple on the surface of the water. "Dora, come back!" He tried to run, but there was more than water holding him back this time. Something took a grip on his shoulder, a dead and blackened hand.

"Remus..." The hand on his shoulder tightened and shook him.

He sat up with a start.

Nymphadora was on the edge of his bed, her smirking face framed by chin-length magenta hair. "I've been trying to wake you up for ten minutes!" She smiled and held out her arms. "What do you think?" The lamplight cast a glow on her hair, making it gleam like a neon sign. He rubbed his eyes and stared blankly at her for a moment; she was wearing a turquoise, handkerchief-sized nightgown, edged in cream-coloured lace. "You said you liked this colour." He took her hand and pulled her closer.

"Mmm. You're right, I did." He ran his fingers under the hem of the tiny scrap of fabric, between it and her skin, which was just as soft and warm, still damp from the shower. "Where'd you get it?"

_And why haven't I seen it before?_

"Eh, some store in London. I used the money Mum gave me for my birthday."

"That's very disturbing, Nymphadora." He grinned sleepily, the odd nightmare barely clinging to the edge of memory as she slid her arms around him.

"Do you want me to take it off?"

"You ask such difficult questions..."

* * *

Who's that casting devious stares in my direction? It must be the reviewers...


	16. Souvenirs You Never Lose

Disclaimer I don't even write this on my own computer, so you can correctly assume that the characters aren't mine either.

Author's Note Ahoy, shipmateys. I know we're all dreading the Event Horizon, as I like to call it, and as much as I am dreading to expound upon what happens during that black hole of despair that we call HPB, I'm going to do it. For you, dear reader. But first, here's one more bit of semi-fluff for your reading enjoyment.  
The title is from "Name", by the Goo Goo Dolls...

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Souvenirs You Never Lose

"Dora?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Washing the dishes. Why?"

"I was just wondering..."

"Wondering what?"

"Wondering why you're washing the dishes...in your swimsuit."

Tonks was standing at the sink, a plate in one hand and a dishcloth in the other, in a camouflage bikini and combat boots, a hot pink bandana tying back spiky black hair.

_This must be what it looks like when Joan Jett storms the beach cottage kitchens of Normandy..._

"Well, I was sunbathing." She rinsed the plate and put it on the table. "And then I realized that I'd forgot that I'd said that I'd do the dishes, so I came back inside." She grinned. "And started washing the dishes."

_...Or maybe I should stop listening to your music while I read..._

"You were sunbathing?"

"Yes, dear." She answered, and scrubbed vigorously at a willow-patterned china teakettle.

He had just returned from a shopping trip, a bag of groceries in each arm. Remus wasn't shocked that she was doing chores, or that she was doing them without the aid of spells; her attempts at household magic usually did more damage than good. Still giving her a slightly puzzled look, he dropped the groceries on the table, fishing an apple out of the bottom of one brown paper bag.

"But you don't tan."

"Yes, I do." She carefully put down the kettle and looked around, trying to find a towel. "Ah, screw it." She wiped her hands on his shirt, leaving wet streaks and suds in patches across his shoulder. "Okay, close your eyes."

"Okay." He did, and she put a hand over his face, still a bit damp and smelling of lemon-scented soap.

"No peeking."

"Got it." He laughed. She took her hand from his eyes slowly, with the typical look of apprehension on her pretty face. Tonks took a step backward, normally pale skin now an unnaturally even, glistening golden tan. She shook her head and her hair fell into sleek, shoulder length chocolate-brown curls. "Dora. Wow."

"Good 'wow', or bad 'wow'?"

_Excellent 'wow', you silly thing. And I thought I was insecure..._

"Like you're just back from Morocco." He gave her a conspiratory grin. "Were you rocking the Casbah?"

Tonks rolled her eyes."Ten points to Gryffindor for Remus Lupin's clever music reference." She wrinkled her nose at him and phased back to her normal pale self, digging through a drawer.

"That's why we suit each other, Dora." He sat down on the kitchen table. "I can make clever music references and look like an old guy who's trying too hard to impress his sexy young girlfriend. You, on the other hand, can make wickedly snarky remarks...and-and you look bloody fantastic in that...the, uh- with the strings."  
He gestured vaguely toward her lower body, and drawing a blank, shrugged and took a bite of the apple.

"Bikini?" She supplied, though skeptically, pulling a silver colander out of a cupboard and putting it on her head like a hat. She checked her reflection in the back of a spoon and frowned, then put it back and continued rummaging.

_It's probably a good thing that I do most of the cooking..._

"Yes, that's the word. Towels are in the bottom drawer." He suggested helpfully, smirking as she bent over, but Tonks caught on and frowned at him sideways. She found a towel in the lowest drawer and snapped it at his shins in retribution.

"Git. Do you like it?"

"You look delicious. Part of a well-balanced diet..."

"Maybe _you _shouldn't say _that_...I may take it the wrong way." She said wryly, and nodded, turning back to the sink to dry a glass. She was very careful, he noticed, she hardly took a step left or right while holding anything remotely breakable.

_...Though maybe if I had a girl that would cook in her swimsuit, and let me watch, it wouldn't matter if the toast was burned beyond recognition..._

"Hmm...Delicious, but completely inedible?" Remus amended, pulling the stem from the apple and throwing it at her. "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say _completely_ inedible..."

"Not fit for human consumption?" Tonks asked, grinning coyly at him over her shoulder. She wiggled her hips.

_...No, it wouldn't matter at all..._

"Good thing you have me then, eh?" He snuck up behind her and bit her neck, tugging on the strings of her swimsuit.

"Oh no! I'm being attacked!" She shrieked in mock-fear, the back of her hand against her forehead, and slumped into his arms dramatically, fanning her face with the towel. "Wolf! Help! Somebody help me!"

"I was provoked." He said innocently and to no one in particular, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

"Wait, wait!" She said, upside down. "You have to put the food away!" He pulled his wand from his pocket and flicked it at the groceries, which all but for a reluctant potato, flew into the correct places in the cupboards. He set her on the table gently, leaning down to look her in the eye.

"Since when are you so..." He struggled for the word, watching her adjust her swimsuit. "Domestic?"

"You bring it out in me, I'm afraid."

"Should I be worried for you? I wouldn't want you to lose any of your colourful punk rock mentality for my sake."

"You really shouldn't be mocking my latent domesticity." Tonks studied her fingernails, smiling coolly. "It could be quite useful to you."

_Latent domesticity...who talks like that?_

"In what manner?"

"Well, I have all the cleaning done...and nothing planned for the rest of the afternoon..."

"Why would that-"

"Oh, Remus. You're so cute when you have no clue." She ruffled his hair, laughing. "Lucky for me, that's all the time..."

* * *

They had fought, or at least he had considered it a fight, for the first time the night before. Of course, they had had plenty of arguments, never over anything serious- just stupid disagreements over simple things. And he hadn't meant to overreact...and he had an excuse, he thought, as he stared out the bedroom window. The waxing moon shone through, as aggravatingly cheerful and romantic as usual, catching on the linen-draped curves of the girl sleeping next to him, casting a silver sheen on her pale pink hair. He could feel the moonbeams pulling on him, like a collar on a dog that was trying to run away...his owner held tight to the leash. He couldn't sleep. He didn't _want_ to sleep; he had been having the strangest dreams as of late, and the sullen silence she had slipped into before bed was grating on his conscience.

"I don't want to take your money."

"You're not _taking my money_, Remus. You're going to go buy food. We're about out of milk and stuff." She leaned over, peering into the icebox, reappearing with a half-empty carton of strawberry ice cream.

"_I'll_ buy food-"

"That's not fair, I'm staying here, too. And I eat quite a bit." She pushed a handful of galleons and sickles across the table to him, along with a bowl and spoon.

"I'll feel guilty if I-"

"No, _I'll_ feel guilty if you don't-"

"I don't want you to feel like you have to help out."

"I'm not _helping_." She said with deliberate slowness, trying to keep a hurt tone from her voice. "I'm doing my part."

"You shouldn't have to-"

"That's-what...Is it because I'm a _girl_? I don't mind paying for things, you know."

_But you're not just any girl..._

"It isn't fair to you, I should be taking care of you instead."

"Your belligerent chivalry astounds me." She smiled.

_You should be used to it by now..._

"I know."

"Please, just do it." She was trying so very hard not to be insulted, he knew. Tonks was independent. She didn't need anyone. She didn't lack anything, and sometimes, though he would never tell her this, he felt more like an accoutrement than a proper boyfriend. Not because of the way she treated him- she was always thoughtful, considerate. He just couldn't do the things for her that he felt he should be doing, and though she didn't seem to mind, it bothered him to no end.

The girl next to him stirred, wiggling, throwing an arm over the edge of the bed.

"Nymphadora. Dora." He leaned close to her, poking her shoulder. "Dora. Wake up. Dora. _Tonks_."

"Wha...?" She brushed his hand away absently, pulling the sheet over her head. He did the same, wrapping his arms around her. The moonlight tinted the white linen silver and shimmery. She had complained about his 'boring' sheets the first night she had stayed and had tried to charm them pink with lime-green polka-dots when he wasn't looking.

"I'm sorry."

"S'okay." She snuggled against his chest, nuzzling under his chin.

"You're not angry at me?"

"Why for?"

"For being a noble Gryffindor prat."

She gave him a confused look, combing tangled pink hair back from her face. "'Cos why?"

_Oh, right... I'm not supposed to know about that...Noble Gryffindor Prat Enthusiasts, Incorporated..._

"I'm sorry I can't take care of you the way I'm supposed to."

"You can too." He could hear a sleepy smirk in her voice. She pushed her hands under his shirt, running her fingers up and down his spine, pulling him on top of her, kissing him. Her lips moved with, then against his own, warm and wet. She kissed him forcefully, with meaning behind every movement, and he knew what she was trying to tell him.

"Isn't _quite-_" He sighed as she shifted underneath him, wrapping her legs around his hips. "W-what I meant."

"It's good enough for me."

"You'd better not try to give me money for this, Nymphadora." He teased in a ragged breath, lips against her ear.

"Oh, Remus...Do shut up." Her arms slid around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his shirt over his head.

* * *

"I do believe this is the best idea we've had yet."

_The best idea anyone ever had...ever..._

"Think so?"

"Definitely-"

"Well, at any rate, it's more fun than washing the dishes."

_Exponentially more fun than washing dishes..._

"Only I have a slight problem..."

"What is it this time?"

"Why does the water have to be _so _hot?"

"Because I, unlike _some people_, can't stand unnecessarily cold water."

"What makes you think it's unnecessary?" He raised an eyebrow under damp brown hair. She smirked at him, wrinkling her nose and splashed at his face, clearly choosing to ignore the innuendo.

"What _I_ want to know is how we both fit in the seemingly _tiny _bathtub."

"Magic?" He offered helpfully.

"Must be it." Tonks nodded, scooping up a double handful of water and dumping it on his head.

"That was uncalled for."

"Chill out, I'm only trying to drown you." She grinned, pouring another handful of soapy water over his hair. It dripped down his nose and he blinked.

"I'm going to smell like a _girl_," He said disparagingly, putting a mountain of fluffy white bubbles on top of her head. "Look, it's Marie Antoinette!"

"Well, there _are _alot of people in your bathtub today..." She smirked at him. "You may smell like a girl, but at least you won't smell like a wet dog. "

He glared at her. She reached over the side of the tub, feeling for the bottle of firewhiskey on the floor. "Shall I bring the flea shampoo next time?" Tonks wiggled an eyebrow, the heap of bubbles sliding down her hair. She took a long drink, grinning at him, and lay back with her arm behind her head.

_Bloody hell..._

He leaned in to kiss her and she pushed him under the water. He resurfaced laughing, sputtering, wet hair dripping nearly down to his chin.

"Okay, you're asking for it, lady!"

"What-what are you doing? _Remus.._."

He shook his head violently, like a dog with water in its ears.

"Remus, no! No! Bad!"

"Well, I think I'm clean enough. Goodnight." He clambered out of the bathtub, grabbing a towel from the hook on the wall and wrapping it around his waist. Tonks gave him a baleful look from under soapy pink hair.

"Don't you- Don't you do it!"

Grinning widely, he took the remaining towels and threw them over his arm, picked up the bottle of firewhiskey and both of their wands, and darted out into the hall, slip-sliding on the tile floor.

"You will pay, Remus Lupin! You. Will. Pay."

"Oh, really?" He ducked his head around the door and smiled. "I beg to differ."

She crossed her arms and huffed, a cloud of bubbles quivering on top of her head.

"I believe _you'll _be paying this time, Nymphadora."

* * *

Review, already!


	17. Remember the Weight of the World

**Disclaimer:** The characters, they aren't mine.

**Author's Note:**The first chapter finished on my new notebook! Yay for technology, but not so much for Remus and Tonks...unfortunately.

Title is from the (lovely) song 'I Summon You', by Spoon.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Remember the Weight of the World

Someone was singing softly, slightly off key, in the kitchen above. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it, the sound swirled around in his head, accompanied by the shuffling of footsteps padding across the floor. He sat up, stretching his arms and legs, running damage control as his vision cleared from the dim blur it had been before. No broken bones. A few scratches. One good gash on his hip that had for the most part, healed on its own. Other than that, he was fine.

More importantly, he was alone...and still in the cellar, sitting on the cold stone floor- it was as etched with scratch marks as he was.

He reached for a pair of rather shredded plaid pajama bottoms and pulled them on, wearily climbing the narrow stairs and retrieving his wand from the ledge above the door, the only way in or out of the stone room beneath the house. The wards holding the door shut were complicated, at best; it took him a few moments to remember the right incantations to unlock it, to get out. He stumbled down the hallway to the kitchen where a pink-haired girl was making lunch. She didn't notice him, singing softly to herself, a mug in one hand.

"Nymphadora," he called in a hoarse whisper, trying to find his voice. She went on singing quietly, pausing, muttered something to herself about tea. "Wotcher, Dora."

Tonks screamed and dropped the mug; it shattered on the floor. "Bloody hell, Remus!" She whirled around, standing with her back flat against the cupboard, wide-eyed with fright. "I thought you were still downstairs!"

"Are you alright?" He took a step towards her and she slid down the cupboard, stockinged feet slipping on the slick tile, bottom hitting the floor with a thud. "Dora, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Her hands were shaking as she took her wand from behind her ear and repaired the mug, then stood, taking hold of the table. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment until she turned away. "How are you feeling?" She asked quickly, poured hot water for tea into the mug and set it down, pushing it towards him.

"Not too bad. Thanks."

'"You're awfully... awake, this morning."

_For someone who spent all night locked in the basement, howling at the top of their lungs..._

"It's the potion...Or, erm. Lack thereof."

He had made a mistake, he knew, forgetting once again to take the Wolfsbane potion. For the first time in almost a year, Sirius hadn't been there to remind him to take it, to- something he had done without fail, for he knew of his friend's forgetful nature. And Remus knew he could only blame himself- as recently he had become rather preoccupied with his houseguest and her many talents.

_Auror Tonks and her weapons of mass distraction..._

The potion was probably still in Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts; he'd never gone to pick it up. Snape didn't know where he lived, and probably couldn't be counted on to deliver it even if he did, though it was on Dumbledore's orders that he brewed it. As long as Remus was in the Order, it was free of charge. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to afford the stuff.  
Without it, he recovered more quickly, as taking it interfered with the transformation process so that he remained a normal wolf during the full moon, and not a werewolf. It was a drug, and like any other drug, it had lasting side effects. And it tasted like hell.

Tonks sat down across from him, pushing her now white-blonde hair behind her ear with still-trembling fingers. Her face was drawn and tired, as if she'd been awake all night. They looked at each other in silence, until he couldn't keep from saying it.

"You were afraid."

"Was not." She snorted indignantly, crossing her arms. Nymphadora was easily as stubborn as he was, which made for interesting disagreements...as of the afternoon before, concerning the danger of living with someone who has the potential to rend you limb from limb.

"Dora, I'm sorry-"

"No, it's not, you need to quit saying-"

"You shouldn't have to deal with my problems, I've told you this-"

"I knew what I was getting into from the start, Remus. I said I'd stay, and I stayed." Her voice was tight, hollow-sounding. She drummed her fingers absently against the table, biting her lower lip in thought. "And I wasn't scared-"

"You screamed and broke a mug." He laughed, though it wasn't funny.

"You were sneaking around!" She frowned and turned an accusatory finger towards him. "And I break things all the time!"

"Look at you, you're pale as a ghost, and you're still shaking. You were scared. And you didn't go to bed last night."

"I did too." Tonks wrinkled her nose in defiance. "Just didn't sleep well, that's all."

"It would be impossible for you not to be afraid. I can only imagine what it sounds like-"

_Like the kennels in hell, most likely..._

"I wasn't- Remus...I was afraid of what I'd have to do to you if you'd got out of the cellar."

She shot him a meaningful stare in the weighty pause between her comment and his comprehension.

"What you'd have to do to...oh, Dora. I'm sorry."

"I know, we didn't talk about that. We just assumed- you know..." She cleared her throat and looked pointedly away, fighting a grimace. He had made her promise not to try and come downstairs, to wait until he came back up...but he hadn't told her what to do if he'd got out. They hadn't had a plan concerning what to do during the full moon, and he had only remembered the afternoon before that it was time again- too late for the potion to have any effect at all.

It was the thought he had pushed out of his mind since he had met her, at first because he wanted to forget, but later because he did forget it, and for the first time in his life he realized that he had taken advantage of someone, of her...not in a cruel way; he had wanted everything she had wanted, but had forced the impossibility of their relationship from his thoughts in order to finally have a real life. Or a semblance of real life, at least. But it felt like someone else's life, pages from somebody else's story.

* * *

"Is this the one?"

Tonks leaned down to look at a headstone. They had walked the few miles into Godric's Hollow on a whim, and were now traipsing through the slightly overgrown graveyard of the local church. Sunlight refracted off the stained-glass windows and into the nearby trees, tinting the green leaves with rainbow spots. There was the barest hint of autumn chill in the air; the wind whipped her purple skirt around her knees, blowing her brown-black hair into her face. She knelt in the grass, wiping a spot of dirt from the marker.

"That's it." The Potter's white marble headstone sat surrounded by older, crumbling ones. She ran a finger over the name 'Lily', engraved in the stone by magic; it had been there for almost sixteen years but looked like it was carved yesterday. Glancing around quickly to make sure no Muggles were about, Tonks conjured a bouquet of white and yellow daffodils and lay them in the shadow of the stone.

Remus had been at their funeral, he had sat in the very front row, the only one of their close little circle of friends to be there. Sirius had been hauled off to Azkaban already, Peter was supposedly dead, and... Lily and James didn't look like Lily and James, but then he hadn't expected them to. They were pale and ashen, but peaceful. And most importantly, they were together.  
Everyone at the funeral had cried, he had cried too...at first because they were gone, but later because he envied them...not their death, but the way they died, the fact that they had each other, that they'd had something worth dying for. That they weren't being buried alone.

Though, he had always sort-of envied what they'd had while they were alive, as well.

"It's not so much jealousy as it is envy. It's not like I'm coveting my neighbor's wife...just my neighbor's marriage."

"I know that, I know." James laughed. "It's just...I just don't see where it's so much of a hindrance, you know. Girls like you...Lily likes you. I mean, it's not such a big deal. You aren't a monster-" He bounced baby Harry on his knee and gave him a Chocolate Frog to gnaw on.

"All of the time?" He interjected, grinning wryly.

Prongs had shook his spiky black hair and sighed in dismay. "You really shouldn't put yourself down like that, mate. Girls aren't into the whole 'woe is me' thing. You're just a guy with a problem, that's all. Everybody has problems." James was the epitome of everything a friend could be- unwavering loyalty and encouragement...even if he _was_ a tiny bit excitable; when he and Sirius had first found out about Remus' furry little problem, James had been first to speak.

"You're a werewolf?"

"Yes." The silence that had permeated their dormitory was as heavy as the stack of books in his arms, which he promptly dropped in surprise at the next comment. "How cool is that!? Dude, Remus is a werewolf!" He remembered James laughing and flopping down on Sirius' bed, who elbowed him off to the floor, proceeding to ask Remus if he had a tail, and if they could see it.

"Honestly, you're more snarly when you're _not _transformed. The sarcasm, Remus! It's got to go!" Since his own marriage to Lily, James had been trying to set the rest of his friends up with girls, hell bent on using his mates to provide Harry with little friends of his own...or maybe a Quidditch team to captain. "Besides, when Dad was down in Egypt, he heard about this lycan that was married. To _three women_. At the _same time_. He had, like, a half-dozen kids and they were all, y'know, okay." He had the feeling that Prongs was probably exaggerating, or misinformed. Or both. "But you've probably already looked into that-"

"It's different in Egypt. They would worship werewolves and dogs in ancient times. Remember, the Jackal god, Anubis? the "Guardian of the Veil", the god of lost souls and orphans? Does any of that have a positive connotation? Would any of it would make a nice girl or three want to date me? I don't think so. And I think that the polygamous Egyptian lycanthrope story is an urban legend, anyway."

"You've gone all Night's Plutonian Shores on me again, Moony. Ease up on the broodiness just a lil' bit; you are very real, and hardly a harbinger of death from the underworld." James grinned his crooked Jamesy-grin and Harry mimicked it, giving a drooly, gurgling giggle. "I just think that if _you _thought you could find a girl, you could. I'm on your side, here...any time you need it. And you know better than anyone that sometimes legends are true..."

_Okay, Prongs. What would you do?_

Nymphadora took his hand and pulled him out of his reminiscence, down the grassy rows between grave markers a few rows back, to a shady spot beneath a tall tree.

_You would rashly propose to your girlfriend, a bit drunk and after falling from a broom in a two-on-two Quidditch match behind my house..._

"That's your handwriting." Tonks said quietly, standing behind him with her arms around his waist. She nodded toward a marker in the last row.

_You would get married in a five-minute ceremony in your sitting-room with your friends as witnesses..._

The stone was small, engraved with nothing but a pair of first names and a line from his mother's favorite sonnet, he had charmed it onto the dark granite himself- 'Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.'

_And die in the same room, trying to save your wife and son..._

He nodded, wondering how he was going to bear it out, when he finally lost his girl, the one who was walking with him so willingly through a field of people long buried and gone, people that didn't know and didn't care. It wasn't very fair, he thought, that these happy couples should have all eternity together, that all he was allowed to do was watch happiness from a distance, help it along, make sure it ends neatly, like the handwriting on the headstone. It wasn't very fair at all.

_That's all well and good...but what am_ I_ supposed to do?_

The girl kissed him on the cheek and walked away toward the glittering stained glass windows, the light shining through the thin fabric of her dress. He didn't get an answer, at least, not the answer he wanted. He couldn't live like James, who had clung to life and love with a vicious ferocity, an almost-immortality. And he couldn't be like Sirius, who let time slip through his fingers like sand, seconds whipped away by the wind, living like a bolt of lightning. Nor could he live like Nymphadora, who did neither, but took each day one by one and made them her own, twisting and changing it to better suit her. He couldn't hold on, he couldn't let go, couldn't make a difference. He lived his life in the short bursts of blessed sunlight between endless, starless, moonlit nights.

* * *

"It isn't fair to you. 'Kill or be killed' is not a situation I want to put you in. And you'd have to. You know you would."

"I couldn't." She left her chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing his hair.

"I'd kill you." He studied his own drink, forcing himself to say what he was thinking, though it wasn't what he wanted to say. "In a really horrible way, which is why this isn't going to work, because you wouldn't try to save yourself if it meant-"

"Not if it meant hurting you."

"See, this is _exactly_," A humorless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Exactly why you shouldn't get too attached to your pets. Haven't you ever read 'Old Yeller'?"

"Remus-"

"And I'd get hauled away and chopped up like a naughty hippogriff, and all that's left of you to bury would fit in a-"

She put a hand over his mouth to shut him up. "Remus, _please_."

He pulled her fingers away, kissing the back of her hand. "I'm just being realistic."

"You're _just_ _being_ a prat."

"It's for your own good. I couldn't-"

_I couldn't go on living if I hurt you..._

"Neither could I." She said shortly, reading his mind. "But look at us, we're fine. We got through it just fine."

He nodded an empty agreement, sighing as she pressed her lips against his in a brief kiss. She was beautiful when she was stubborn, he loved the vehemence in her voice when she was trying to defend him from himself. More proof that she cared enough not to care. He gave in and pulled her onto his lap, pushing his lips against hers in an attempt to silence the bothersome little thought he assumed was his conscience, trying to be heard.

_But do you love her enough not to love her?_

She pulled away from him abruptly. "Oh, erm..I forgot- you got a Patronus message from Dumbledore, there's a meeting tomorrow and they want us there. At the Burrow, I mean."

_Oh, thank god for something else to talk about..._

"Did you send a message back?"

Her dark, tired eyes met his for a split second, panicked. "Actually I was wondering if you would do that, I-"

"When did it get here?"

"About half an hour ago, but-"

"Then he knows you're staying here, or he would have waited until later. You can tell him we'll be-"

"I'd just rather you do it." Tonks gave him a fleeting look of supplication.

"Why?"

"Because..." Was all she said, with a hint of sadness in her smile.

* * *

Répondez s'il vous plaît? Moony would want you to...


	18. Living in Solace

_Disclaimer_- Any characters you happen to recognize belong to someone that isn't a destitute college student(i.e.- me).

_Author's Note-_ Fortunately for you all(or unfortunately, if you don't like it) this chapter won the coin-flipping contest over writing the first draft of my research paper.  
Title is from 'Tumble and Fall', by Feeder.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Living in Solace

The girl was standing alone at the garden gate of the Burrow, holding a handful of flickering hot pink flames. The light flashed across her face and caught, sparkling in her eyes, on the thin silver chain lying around her throat. Sighing, she leaned against the gatepost, scuffing the toe of her boot on a stone in the path. The newly-waning moon shone, rising behind her- a golden pool of light in a dim purple, just-after-sunset sky.

"Shall we?" The flames jumped from her fingers to his as he reached out for her hand, shifting from pink to white, to blue as he pressed his palm against hers, then fading out; magic in the joined hands of myth.

She nodded and laced her fingers through his, wordlessly pulling him through the gate and down the narrow path at a hurried pace. She stopped abruptly at the edge of the orchard, just past the boundary line, and to Disapparate but he grabbed her arm.

"Show me."

Her dark eyes met his blue, a silent, infinitesimal conversation in one raised eyebrow.

_You know what I mean, Dora…_

"Why should I?" She pulled her arm from his grip. "It won't change your mind one way or another. It won't change the situation-"

"Nymphadora..."

With a sigh of exasperation, she took half a step back, slipping a wand from her pocket. He watched her twirl it in her thin fingers. She regarded him with a skeptical, apprehensive quirk of her mouth, and then seized him by the shirt collar, kissing him furiously, angrily. He tried to pull away but found that he couldn't, automatically leaning into the kiss, tracing his fingertips over her jaw. He didn't hear her say the incantation, but he instead felt the words whispered, tingling against his own lips. He saw the light, the glow of the spell from the corner of his eye. It was bright as daylight, made of mist but moving like quicksilver and taking an all-too-familiar shape. They both froze, staring after the ghostly form darting down the orchard path, out of the moonlight and into darkness until it disappeared completely. He drew in a deep breath, realizing that he had stopped breathing altogether. She, realizing that she still held his shirt, shoved him roughly backwards.

"Happy now, Remus?" Tonks folded her arms and gave him a cross look, and he wondered how she could scowl at him so and still resemble an angel.

"That was- Dora? I- it's just like-" He ran a hand through his hair, at a loss.

_Oh, no…_

"Just like yours, I know." She shrugged and stared at the ground. "I just erm, noticed that...right after, y'know...the thing at the Ministry..." Her voice grew quieter, and she sighed again. "Sorry." She muttered an unnecessary apology, kicking at a tuft of grass.

"Nymphadora-"

_I'm sure it wasn't supposed to be this way…_

"Don't call me that." Tonks snapped, stuffing the wand back in her pocket.

"I'm sorry. I-"

"You're _always_ sorry. I was at least-" Her voice broke and she looked away from him. "At least willing to give it a go, when the going got tough."

"You're a much braver person than I am, to fall in love with a-"

He had set it up, and should have been the one to finish it, but she took the initiative.

"A werewolf?" Tonks laughed, with the slightest hint of bitterness in her voice. "I'm not brave. Maybe- maybe I'm just so used to falling...that I'm not afraid to hit the ground anymore."

* * *

They appeared right outside his own front door, the echo of a resounding crack still ringing in his ears.

"I'll just get my things, then." She pushed past him into the sitting room without looking back and Remus followed her, caught her arm for the second time that night, but this time he pulled her back. He leaned down, his forehead against hers, whispering in a broken voice.

"Wait-"

"Remus-"

"Please- please don't leave..."

"You're not making this any easier for either of us." She turned her face away from him, breathing heavily. "You- you said it yourself, you have to go, and- we can't. It's not going to work right now. You said it, remember?"

"I know." He had made his decision, or so he thought, long before sitting at the table in the Burrow's kitchen, where the girl across from him grew paler with every aspect of the mission Dumbledore had explained. She kept still, and finally the tapping of her boot against his under the table ceased completely. She kept silent, her jaw set, with poorly hidden fear written in her eyes. He could see it, if no one else could, and he could barely look at her as they walked out into the back garden after the meeting.

"This blows." She stood next to him, ignoring the vivid sunset.

He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground and trying to organize his thoughts into something that resembled logic.

_How do you logically walk_ _away from someone? From the woman you love… the one who would do anything for you? The girl who sleeps with you every night but one? How do you do it without killing her? Without killing yourself?_

The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other, awkwardly. "I know what you're going to say, too, so-"

"And what might that be?" Remus looked up at her from under his hair. She would know what he was about to say, even if he did not.

"You're going to say…" She paused, rubbing her nose. "You're going to say that you're sorry it has to be this way, and that we can't be together anymore, that we shouldn't have been together to begin with." She pursed her lips and snorted. "And that you absolutely have to go on this mission because it's your duty to the Order, and that it would be highly dangerous for us to keep going on like this while you're doing covert operations among the errant and not-so-well-read lycanthropes."

"You're good." He gave her the ghost of an appraising smile.

"I just know how you are." She shrugged. They had been friends longer than they had been lovers, and they talked like friends. Honestly, openly, without misunderstanding most of the time. Sometimes he didn't know what she wanted more; to shag him or have a conversation...Remus had thought at first that adding a physical dimension to their already dynamic camaraderie would ruin what they had. What he was so grateful for, and terrified of... Natural progression stated that two people that got on so well usually ended up sleeping together, one way or another. The bed they had lain in was now being made up.

"Then you know that I _am_ sorry it has to be this way."

"You _knew_ it was going to be this way." Her sad stare belied the icy edge to her voice. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and looked away toward the fading colours in the west. Tonks didn't question him, he suspected that she knew he wouldn't turn down the newest assignment from the Order, and that he would use it to end things between them. It was a decent enough catalyst and she had picked up on it.

"So did you."

He pulled her down the hallway and into his room, flooded with moonlight again; the only reason he left the curtains open at night was because he liked how it looked on her skin. They stumbled together, falling together onto his bed without stopping; he kissed her, she protested and kissed him back, clumsily kicking off her boots and tearing at his clothes. She pulled his jumper over his head, fumbling to untie his tie.

"I wanted you more...more than I was afraid of the consequences. I understood. Or, I thought I understood…I thought- well, maybe I could change you, change the way you saw yourself... I tried." She looked away from him, the fiery sunset reflected in her hair, caught and shimmering like a butterfly in a net.

"I'm sorry."

"Fucking- I know. I know you're _sorry_. And clearly, you can't help it." She sighed and shrugged, pulling a twig from the hedge behind the fence and studying it intently. "But I don't feel like I've wasted my time on you, if that's what you think-"

"Dora, no, it's just...so unfair to you…that I can't give you anything more."

Tonks looked up at him, dark eyes wet with repressed tears. He didn't expect her to say anything at all until she did, in a voice he hadn't heard before.

"Anything is better than nothing."

"Someday you'll want to get married. Have a family. That's more than I can give you."

She laughed, sniffing and wiping her eyes again, casting him a sideways glace.

"What's so funny?"

"You. You've given this some thought, have you?" She snickered. "God, sometimes you're so old-fashioned it just kills me."

"Yes, let's talk about killing you _again_." He gave her a wry smile- it felt out of place to smirk at her now, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do.

"Remus, you are _so _blind! Can't you see, I don't need you to give me anything, but you need me. Be selfish for a change, dammit! Think of what _I_ could give _you_…" The sun finally sank under the horizon, reluctant and resistant, spreading its last rays of gold over the darkening sky. Her fingers tightened on the rail of the fence. "I'll meet you out front; I want to get my things from your place."

She walked away and he heard her sigh, stopping at the door. He knew she was fixing her appearance, morphing to look like she hadn't been crying. Tonks didn't cry, he had only seen her do it once before; it had been his fault that time, as well.

_Look how much you mean to her, you stupid git…_

He leaned on the garden fence and buried his face in his hands. She, unlike him, was not about to give in, was never one to take the easy path. Nymphadora was giving him space, giving him time because she knew just how he operated, that he needed to think. But he knew how she worked, too; how she would give him every opportunity he could ever want and would, until she had nothing left to give and probably after that, too.

_And you're such a bloody coward that you're too afraid to give her what_ she _wants...when all she wants is for you to be happy..._

"You're using me." She mused, in a breath against his hair. He wrapped his arms around her, hands under her shirt, slipping it off her shoulders and dropping it on the floor. He dug his fingers into her back, finding the broken spot on her collarbone with his lips. The silver chain around her neck reflected the moonlight coolly, but burned against his cheek as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. Guilt seared his conscience for the thousandth time that night.

"I'm sorry."

She took his chin in her hand, tilting his face up to kiss him gently and whispering with her lips against his ear so that her words melted through him, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Don't be."

* * *

It was almost sunrise when she woke up; he pretended to be asleep, listening to her dress. She left his room for a moment; he imagined she was going through the house, collecting all of her belongings. He didn't want to think about how she felt, how she was going to hate him. How she must think him a coward, or an idiot, or just plain ridiculous for being so cautious about getting into a relationship with her, and his reluctantcy now to end it.

_She won't hate you, Moony. You'll hate you more than she ever will…_

Tonks pretended not to notice he was awake and bent to kiss him softly on the lips. He knew what she was thinking; that this was the last time and she'd better make it count. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to move, not to pull her back into bed and lay there forever, waiting for the world to disintegrate around them. He wondered if she was as tired as he was, of trying to hold the world together…

"I love you." Her hair brushed against his cheek and a finger traced the bridge of his nose. "When you change your mind, I want to be the first to know_._"

One more brief kiss and she was gone. He heard her stumble down the hall, heard the sound of something breaking and sat up to go after her, to check on her, but the door clicked shut, followed quickly by the sound of her boots on the flagstone path. The creaking of the gate, a crack as she disappeared, and then nothing but the sound of the wireless still playing softly in the next room, the wind in the dying leaves outside.

A part of him wanted to run after her, to follow her, but in the back of his mind he knew that she had done a good thing, it was an act of mercy. She had left him so that he wouldn't have to leave her. And she was much braver than he was. He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself, unable to feign sleep any longer; now there was no one to fool.

He sat motionless until the sun rose, watching it through the window as it dyed the sky shades of orange. The clouds were pink. He put his head on his knees and bit his lip until it bled, miles away from sleep but praying to wake up colour-blind.

* * *

Review, or I'll post my research paper as the next chapter...


	19. Under Satellites

* * *

Disclaimer- If I owned these characters, do you think I would be writing _fanfic_?

Author's Note- Moving right along- another installment for the rabidly fanatic R/T shippers (it takes one to know one).

Title is from 'Show Me How to Live', by Audioslave…

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Under Satellites

He was sitting on the threadbare oriental rug in front of the fireplace, sorting through a pile of random items and putting them in a cardboard box. A white t-shirt with a single word written boldly across the front; he folded it neatly and put it in on top of a pair of purple pajamas. Three albums, a yellow guitar pick, and scrap of paper with a note scribbled on it. A tiny red vial of perfume that smelled like cinnamon and chocolate. A bottle of absinthe, never opened and glowing eerily in the firelight; this he set off to the side until the sadly familiar, numb feeling of sudden abandonment wore off and the need for alcohol set in. He had been saving it to share with her, but considering the recent developments…

Remus Lupin sat up a bit straighter and ran a hand through graying hair.

_You _chose_ abandonment…_

A photograph strip of the non-moving Muggle variety; three flashes in a photo booth- a girl with her arms around his neck, then both of them making funny faces at the camera, and in the bottom photo, she was kissing him on the cheek. He put it in the box with a barely audible sigh. 'The Great Gatsby', an old and battered paperback copy, whose cover art was as vivid as it had ever been. He put it face down, on top of the shirt. A ring, chased silver with raised stars around the outside. He barely touched it, picking it up quickly and dropping it in the bottom.

A cup of tea steamed weakly, long abandoned on the floor beside him. It was raining outside, pouring down with a vengeance and blasting the windowpanes, the glass squares filled with velvety, liquid night. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back against the corduroy sofa, fingers pinched on the bridge of his nose.

"Fuck." He breathed tiredly into his hand. The fire crackled in answer as he hastily pulled the book and photo from the box, shoving them in the patched canvas rucksack at his left.

She hadn't taken any of her unnecessary belongings, when she left…she had left as if darting out to the store for a moment, with every intention of returning.

_Her little way of saying that she means to come back…_

The first day, he couldn't bring himself to look around. There were traces of her everywhere; forensic evidence that kept him from successfully convincing himself that he had merely woken up from an oddly pleasant dream featuring a typically sour ending. It had all been left lay for a week now, and he had finally worked up the nerve to gather her things and put them in a box. He couldn't bring himself to give them back to her; one, because he hadn't seen her since she left, and two, because if he gave them back it would mean he didn't want _her_ back, which would be a lie.

_And you promised not to lie to her…_

There had been one more Order meeting since she had left. Nymphadora had not attended, Moody had quickly supplied a reason- Ministry business in Hogsmeade. Nor had she shown up for Harry's birthday tea…Which was bollocks, in his opinion. Remus knew why she wasn't there at the Burrow with the rest of the Order. Because _he_ was there. He had wanted a break-up, and she was giving him one.

"Absolutely mental." He muttered as he pushed the cardboard box away, unsure of just whom he was referring to; the girl or himself. He hadn't slept in a week and the next day he was due to leave on a mission for the Order, one that had been custom-made just for him. One that required his unique talents, according to Dumbledore.

_What, my unique talents for being a noble prat? For ruining lives? Some skills those are..._

Remus had never wanted to be _unique_. Differentiation was thrust upon him like greatness was upon others, something he had realized at the painfully young age of eleven. It haunted him persistently; like Moaning Myrtle had done in school- she favored the tragic type. He had tried to shrug the feeling off, like a coat too small, but it stuck, coursing through his veins and proving just _how_ different he actually was every time the moon was full. He had been pitied by some of the teachers, and was bright enough at eleven to tell that a few of them were slightly afraid of him. The pity and fear of people that were supposed to be smarter, kinder, and more open-minded than he drove him to what he was; studious, scholarly.

_Exceeds Expectations... _

To prove them wrong, to make sure that every single time they thought 'werewolf', they thought, 'makes the best grades in class,' or 'is the nicest person I know.'

It was his revenge against nature.

After finishing school, after the deaths and imprisonment of his friends he could have easily- the thought had crossed his mind and frightened him- fallen into living like the other lycanthropes; the feral, almost-cannibals that he was now being sent to reason with. _Was_ there reasoning with them? He had never met another beside the man occupying the hospital room with Arthur Weasley, who had been in no fit state to talk. So Remus did what he usually did when presented with a dilemma. He went to the library, though he knew he wasn't safe from thoughts about her there, either.

* * *

It was a head-on collision, he was met by someone going at full speed around a dark corner. There was flash of bright, blinding green and for a moment he thought he'd been cursed, until they both hit the dingy hardwood floor, just outside the study of 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Hello, Nymphadora." He gasped, the breath knocked out of him.

"It's Tonks, Remus." The girl said plainly, looking up at him from his lap. A scrap of parchment was stuck in her wildly curly, lime green hair. The rest of the papers he had been carrying were scattered down the hall, mixed in with the crumbled remains of a china teacup. A large chunk bearing the Black family crest gleamed at the corner of his vision.

"Of course, Tonks."

She clambered to a standing position, dusting the knees of her jeans and then pulling him to his feet. Their eyes met for an awkward moment; still holding each other's hands, two shape-shifters employed by a secret society, standing in the middle of the hall in a house owned by a felon. Tonks grinned at him. He let go abruptly, searching his pockets for a wand to summon the drift of papers back into a stack.

"Lupin…"

He turned back to face her. Tonks held her hand up, like she was waving, and smiled brightly.

"Not mine, surprisingly." She pointed at the smear of bright red blood across her palm. He looked down at his own hands, a matching gash across the palm of his right hand. "I think maybe the teacup got you."

"Sorry." He muttered. "You should go wash that off-"

"You're bleeding." She threaded her arm through his, pulling him back into the study from whence he had departed before being trampled. The girl pushed him towards the desk, motioning for him to sit as she whipped a wand from her pocket and produced a hot pink handkerchief out of thin air.

"I didn't mean to wound you." Tonks pressed the cloth against the cut. "I was only going to ask; Kingsley and I are bringing takeout back later and I was wondering if you- oh, bollocks, you've got it on your shirt, now." She wiped her fingers on her patched jeans and examined his hand quite thoroughly. "Well, at least there's not any glass in there."

"It's fine, really. I can do this my-"

He tried to pull his hand from hers, but she resisted, mopping up the blood that welled up into a puddle in his palm. It stained her pale fingers and clashed against the pink cotton.

"No you can't, Moony, you've only one hand to use. Don't move." She spelled the gash shut. "Sorry I ran you over. At least I wasn't a bus."

"True." He smirked at her, remembering their last assignment together and how she had nearly been hit by a giant, red, double-decker tour bus. "You should go wash-"

"Does the sight of blood bother you?" She asked concernedly, vanishing the handkerchief, and then the bloodstains from her hands.

"No, it's just- it's mine."

"And?" She jammed the wand into her back pocket.

"I just didn't think you would want it on you."

_Isn't it obvious?_

"Why?" Her look of nose-wrinkled mystification made him laugh, though uneasily.

_Obviously not…_

"Because of my- because I'm a-"

He fumbled for an explanation. Tonks made him nervous. He was attracted to her, unable to convince himself otherwise, and had been since they met a few weeks ago… though he hadn't been expected it to be this bad. She was pretty, and clever, and could cast spells with the best of them. And she liked him back, which was the most frightening part of all.

"Oh, _right_…because you're a-"

"Yes." He nodded, before she could finish.

Tonks shrugged dismissively. "It's just blood, Remus."

"That- it doesn't bother you?"

"No, not really."

"No?"

"No." She said softly, confidently, as she looked up at him. They were inches from each other now; he could have grabbed her and kissed her if he had been able to move at all. Fight or Flight had taken over yet again; _Flight_ thought it would be a decent idea to run screaming from the room and immediately banish any ideas of snogging the poor, unsuspecting green-haired girl from his mind. _Fight_ wanted desperately to taste the perpetual smile on the lips of Nymphadora Tonks before she fell down a flight of stairs and killed herself. _Remus_ wanted to finish reading his book...He hadn't been this crazy for a girl since school…though he felt he did a decent job of hiding it. Sirius was the only person who could tell, as far as he knew. He wasn't even sure _she_ could tell, until she grinned at him.

"Honestly! D'you think I'd think you were contagious or something?"

"What-I don't know, I-" Remus stared at the floor.

"I did my homework, Lupin. I know it's not like, transmittable- well, only if you bite me." She paused, took a seat on the edge of the desk, and then continued in a shamelessly flirty, playful tone. "But you're not gonna bite me, _are you_?"

_Oh, yes. She knows. This is bad. Bad, bad, bad..._

"I'll do my best not to, but I can't make any promises." He said quickly, flushing, and uncertain whether he sounded more like a mischievous reprobate or an insufferable pessimist. "What do you mean, you 'did your homework'?"

"I picked up a book or two." A bright green eyebrow flicked upward, almost unnoticeably.

"Books on…werewolves?"

"Yeah." She made a face. "They're pretty biased."

"Most are." He distractedly pulled the scrap of parchment from her hair, a tea-stained corner of an old envelope that he had been using as a bookmark.

"You should write one. It would be much better, I think." Now it was her turn to stare at the ground, mute, and he would have thought she was blushing but it might have been the colour of her hair playing tricks on his eyes.

_Why are our conversations always so awkward?_

"Why-uh, did you-?"

"I just didn't want to say anything to, y'know, offend you. I do that sometimes-"

"That's very thoughtful of you."

_Why can't she just say 'Hey, I like you and everything, but you're a werewolf, and we can't date.' At least that would be honest, and would save time…_

"You think?"

He nodded silently. She took his hand and pressed her lips against his palm in a sudden, quick kiss.

"All better?"

He nodded again, wide-eyed and oddly reminded of the time Sirius had dared him to stick his finger into a Muggle electrical outlet. She grinned again from her perch on the edge of his desk.

"So is chicken curry okay with you?"

"What?"

"Kingsley and I are bringing back take out later… that's what I was going to ask you before I fell for- erm, on you. So; chicken, or broccoli beef? "

"Either...?"

"'Kay." Nymphadora grinned again and darted out of the room.

He laid his head on the desk and sighed heavily.

_Oh,_ _bloody hell...Sirius is going to have a field day with this one..._

"Wait!" She darted back into the room. "I forgot- do you want rice or noodles?"

He didn't even bother to look up at her and muttered the one thing he felt would redeem him from being the barmy old codger she probably thought him to be.

"Rice, rice baby."

There was a barely-muffled snort followed by hysterical laughter, and then he heard her hit the floor for what he could only hope was just the second time that day.

* * *

It was far past midnight when he awoke, head on the desk with his cheek pressed against a copy of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', which he had abandoned for a slightly liquor-soaked read through of 'Call of the Wild'. His quick revision of lycanthropic habits had collapsed; Remus soon found he knew everything there was to know about werewolves, though not a single one of the books had mentioned them favoring Jack London, hard liquor, or younger women with odd hair.

_That's discrimination, that is…_

For lycanthropes, there was no 'pack mentality', per se; it was more like anarchy with a pecking order. Werewolves didn't run in groups, they didn't have a real leader- it was every man for himself, survival of the fittest. It was cruel, it was brutal, and usually ended in blood.

_A dog-eat-dog world…_

They didn't marry, didn't have families and typically didn't live past forty, unless they had an inside connection with the Dark Lord. Some were uneducated or illiterate. And he was supposed to convince them to align with an obscure, tiny faction fighting for a good side that couldn't really promise them anything. Remus recognized futility when he saw it. He had no right to persuade anyone to do anything. He didn't fit in the prescribed lycanthrope mold, the Wizarding world seemingly had no use for him besides being a sneak and a spy, and the one person that would have him as he truly was he had pushed away for the sake of sparing his own conscience.

_She deserves so much better than this..._

* * *

Reviewers get to console a poor, lonely werewolf with a cuddle by the fire and possibly some chocolate.


	20. Impossible to Hold

_Disclaimer: _I hardly own these characters. They really do belong to someone else.

_Author's Note:_ I haven't abandoned you guys completely. Only temporarily. I would summarize, but my brain feels like it's about to fall out.  
P.S.- If you want to hate on someone for my absence and brain problems, hate on all of my non-werewolf professors. They are not down with fanfic. And they don't hand out chocolate, either. Even on Halloween...which should be a crime!

Title is from "This Photograph is Proof" by Taking Back Sunday.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Impossible to Hold

Time, Remus thought, didn't just crawl; it dragged along painfully, like a wounded animal trying to escape a stalking predator.

He had seen Tonks twice since the night she had left. The first time was at the Burrow, where she sat silently in a chair for an entire Order meeting. Neither of them could bring themselves to look directly at one another. Nymphadora mumbled a greeting at him when they quite literally ran into each other, and she left the second the meeting was over. He didn't blame her.

He saw her again in Hogsmeade when he stopped in to pick up the Wolfsbane potion from The Hog's Head— Snape had dropped it off there in an effort to cut his dealings with Remus to a bare minimum. Tonks was heading towards Scrivenshaft's as he turned down the side street to the pub. The girl passed him, giving him a weak, wary half-smile, brown hair poking out from under a hat. There were dark circles under her eyes.

She didn't slow or stop to talk, so Remus walked on by, mirroring her cautious smile and feeling like a murderer.

A few days later he had found himself on the dusty floor of his cellar, chilled to the bone and aching all over, quickly realizing that a firewhiskey chaser had not made the taste of Wolfsbane potion any more bearable. In fact, he found it made the after-effects considerably worse...And the feeling was only amplified when he dragged himself into the kitchen, took a look at the calendar, and realized what day it actually was.

_A whole year…a whole year..._

"Damn." He whispered, pouring the last handful of cornflakes into a bowl with a shaking hand. Halfway through October and he had made no progress with the lycanthropes. Halfway through October and he still was barely sleeping, hardly ate anything, couldn't focus at all.

The past few excursions into the underground society he was currently infiltrating had gone as he had expected. His fellow werewolves were easy to find in Knockturn Alley, illegally scrounging for food behind restaurants in the seedier parts of London, living on the outskirts of gypsy camps. Unwillingly disguised as vagrants, tattered and patched as he was. He could recognize them; he knew the telling limp or bandage all too well... A few of the lot had listened to his whole prepared speech, some had even debated the legitimacy of taking sides in the war, but most had just told him they didn't care one way or another; even if Voldemort _was_ defeated; _they_ were still monsters to be hunted down…

_Can't really blame them, either..._

So far, it felt more like he was taking a survey of opinion than attempting to convince his fellow lycanthropes to side with the Order. He went home and sank exhaustedly into bed, dreading the next day and trying to forget the one before it. He fell asleep alone at night, waking up with a start when he reached for her and she wasn't there- a shock like that of stepping off a ledge and falling further than you thought you would.

It was nightfall, the day after the full moon when someone knocked on the front door- he was dozing fitfully on the sofa. The sound shook him awake.

"'Llo?" Remus called from inside, straightening his shirt and trying to comb out his mess of shaggy, uncut hair with his hands. He looked half-dead; unshaven and worn-out in the windowpanes at the top of his front door. He saw his visitor through the glass, a shorter man with a gnarled, scarred face and a wild blue eye.

"Remus?"

"Hello, Mad-Eye." He called, scrambled for his wand and hastily spelled the room into something resembling neatness.

"Security question, Lupin..."

"Yes, yes, I know." Remus paused, already unlocking the door.

"How many times did I turn Padfoot into a ferret during the first meeting?"

"Two times." A shadow of a smile flickered across his face at the memory of the first meeting of the second Order of the Phoenix, almost a year and a half ago... how Moody had transfigured Sirius into a scruffy black ferret for his incessant berating of Severus Snape. "The third time he bit you on the ankle."

"Good, now let us in." The visitor growled. Remus swung the door open, standing out of the way as he entered the room. Moody was direct and to the point, the reason the Remus liked him, but the look on the old auror's weathered face sent a prickling feeling down his spine.

"Have you seen Tonks?"

A shiver of panic jolted through him. "Not since the last meeting, why?"

"There was an incident in Hogsmeade today, and I needed to ask her some questions, but she ran off… She hasn't replied to any messages we've sent. Have any idea of where she might've gone? I wouldn't bother you about it, but I think you're the only person who may" He stopped gruffly, frowning. "Well, if you think you could find her-"

Remus nodded slowly, taking his coat from the rack behind the door and pulled it on, digging a pair of gloves out of a pocket. "I think I know where she is…"

* * *

"Hey, Lupin." A sickly looking fellow at the bar patted the stool next to him, an empty glass in one hand. "Want something to drink?" The pub was mostly empty; Jules had seen him just as soon as he darted in the door and out of the icy wind.

"Hey." He nodded in acknowledgment, and sat down. The guitarist waved the bartender over to their end. "No thanks, I'm just-"

_Here to find my ex-girlfriend? That sounds awful..._

"I get free drinks, it's cool. Don't worry," He insisted. "A vodka for this guy, and the regular for me." The barkeeper Summoned the necessary supplies, pouring their drinks. Jules shook his brown-black hair out of his eyes, lighting a cigarette the Muggle way. His thin fingers twirled the green plastic lighter, stowing it in a ragged flannel shirt pocket. "Does Tonks know you're here?"

"I'd imagine not." Remus took a long drink and let it burn down his throat. There was an awkward pause; both stared at their glasses, and Jules rubbed a hand over his chin.

"She said you two broke up."

It stung when someone else said it, even someone that he barely knew. Conversations with those he did know were even worse. Molly had caught on quickly, having somehow extracted the information from Tonks, and was now on a crusade to persuade him to rethink things. And when she couldn't sway him, she had put Bill and Arthur on the case, though he had managed to avoid them so far.

"I guess we did."

"Ah. So," He stirred his drink. "What brings you round?"

"I'm looking for Dora...erm, Tonks, I mean. There was some trouble down in Hogsmeade today-"

"Oh, yeah. Tonks said it was a student...Got cursed pretty badly." Jules shook his head. "Some crazy shit going on..."

Remus nodded, feeling sick. "So she's here? Is she okay?"

"She's alright, just stopped in for a drink... though apparently she was having a bad day to begin with. She left through the back just a minute ago." He nodded towards a door on the other end of the bar.

_Of course she was having a bad day...she would hardly forget what today is..._

Jules took a drink and kicked at the barstool with the heel of his holey trainer. "If you don't mind me asking, why?"

"Why?"

"Why'd you two break it off? Seemed to be getting on pretty well to me…"

"Oh, well…extenuating circumstances, I guess."

_Extenuating circumstances that could result in a untimely and very gory death..._

"That makes sense." His gray-green eyes darted toward the mirror behind the bar. "I've had trouble with that myself. Though my circumstances are considerably less controllable than yours." He grinned, calling the old man behind the counter. "Carl, is this _sheep_? Tastes a little gamey, got anything else?"

The bartender brought him another drink. "Cow blood's better, I think. Sheep's always tasted a little wooly to me." He took a sip. "Like an old sock. This is much better…I can be particular," He added in a whisper. "No one crosses me for fear of being dinner."

Remus chuckled despite himself. Jules laughed, brandishing the stick of celery from his drink like a wand, and suddenly he thought of something he hadn't thought of before...

"So, how've you been otherwise, Lupin? Besides this whole extenuating circumstances business?"

He studied the bottom of his glass and shrugged, lost in thought. Vampires weren't allowed wands. This fellow, once a Hogwarts student, wasn't allowed to do magic at all. He felt a surge of sympathy for the man sitting next to him, talking to him like a friend though they had only truly met one time previously, though they were both outcasts. He couldn't imagine not being allowed to do magic.

"Not so great, then?"

"Things have been better."

_Much, much better...and that's saying something..._

"Totally understandable." He nodded in agreement, swirling the thick, red contents of his drink. "With the Ministry tightening down on legislations and such. And not being able to find work. Or get laid. Or buy dinner."

"Do you have much trouble with that?"

He laughed. "With which?"

"Any of it...the Ministry?"

"I uh...I live like a Muggle. Can't get a Wizarding job, so I live off handouts from my family and the bit of cash I make playing at bars, busking in the park. Do you know," Jules laughed. "Do you know how difficult it is to find a place to play? Not many people go out after dark anymore, they're afraid they'll get mugged. When there are more dangerous things they should-" He gestured towards himself and sighed. "Well...there's a thin line between despising what I am enough to drive me over the edge...or enough to drive me to change it. To try and make things better."

"Is it worth it, anymore? Trying to change, I mean..."

Jules gave him a thoughtful look, glancing toward the back door. "The person you need to ask just left a few minutes ago..."

* * *

Her silouhette was the first thing he saw, flickering in the wind as she stood in the path through the park. He saw the thin line of her shoulders, the ease in her stance- the way she rested her weight on her right foot with her hands in her pockets, the tilt of her chin, the slow curve of her neck. It was _her_. The gauzy moonlight fell on the bridge of her nose and cheekbones the way he liked and he had to look away. The more he stared at her, the more he wanted to wrap his arms around her, the more he wanted to go home, lock himself in the basement and drink until he passed out. The girl sighed heavily and blew a cloud of mist into the air.

"Hey." She didn't turn to look at him, but stared at the sky; at the moon floating in a bed of wispy clouds.

"Hi."

"How…" Tonks cast a fleeting glance back at him, whispering. "How's your mission going?"

"I, um…Not very well. I'm not very persuasive, obviously."

"Nor am I." She said, in a voice dripping with irony- he knew what she was getting at, but said nothing in return. He didn't know what to say.

Remus pulled the collar of his coat higher around his neck and turned his back against the wind. "How, erm…How have you been, Dora?"

_Well, that's a stupid question, Moony..._

"Just _fine_, thanks." Her voice, clarion in the icy air, carried an underlying snarl. He heard an echo of Sirius in her scathing retort, the bitter tinge of sarcasm in her words cut through him. "And you?"

He shrugged, nothing he thought to say could accurately portray the way he hated himself, how exhausted he was, how he couldn't sleep without her, the way even the littlest things reminded him of her. She turned, looking him over and he knew she could read his every thought in the lines on his face. She knew he missed her. For a moment they stared at one another- her gaze brought a heat of shame to the back of his neck and he tried to stop, but couldn't look away from the glow of the streetlight dancing like angry flame in her eyes.

"You're not here to quote Eliot again, are you, Remus? Or maybe Shakespeare?" She smirked. "Well, whatever you do, don't compare me to a summer's day. I'm not in the mood." Her voice was hollow and high, a sardonic smile playing on her lips.

"You remembered."

"Like I would forget." She laughed emptily. "It'd take a bit longer than a year for me to forget it."

"And even longer for you to forgive me it?"

"What's to forgive? I rather liked it…A nice guy, reciting poetry to me…Wasn't too bad of a kiss either." She sat down on the park bench. Her scarf whipped in the wind and she pushed a handful of hair from her eyes. "Why are you here, Remus?"

"I-" He sighed in frustration. "Moody sent me to find you, he said you took off earlier this afternoon-"

"Well, you've found me." She snapped. "Congratulations."

"Nymphadora, please-"

"It's _Tonks_, Remus."

"Fine, _Tonks_." He couldn't keep an edge out of his voice. "If that's what you want, _Tonks_."

"I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"Did you think I would forget?"

_How could I forget that? I think about it constantly..._

"I thought you might have," She paused, looking down. Her dark hair fell in her eyes. "I thought maybe you _wanted_ to forget."

"I couldn't if I tried." Remus sat down next to her, far away enough to be safe, to keep from wrapping his arms around her like he wanted.

"Have you tried? Do you honestly want to forget?"

"Dora, please don't-"

"It was easier last year to let you take your time. I didn't want to push you into anything, I was afraid I would just be pushing you away, and now look what's happened..." Her voice was strained; she clapped a hand over her mouth, on the verge of tears.

He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from brushing the hair out of her eyes, to keep from touching her at all. "You know I have no excuse for what I did-I just, I...I love you. And I shouldn't. I'm-"

_So very, very sorry..._

"No, you're not sorry, or you wouldn't have done it in the first place." Her hand left her own face- she reached for him and he closed his eyes, bit his lip as he waited for her to slap him, but it didn't happen. Her fingers brushed against his lips, tracing his jaw until he caught her hand and held it.

"Don't make me choose again." He pushed her hand away gently. "It caught up with us, remember? You're worth too much to me to ever risk again."

"That's funny," She whispered as she pulled her hand out of his, standing up. Tonks turned to walk away, looking back with disappoinment etched in her eyes. "Because I always thought you were a risk worth taking."

* * *

In the spirit of Halloween, reviewers get a Trick and/or a Treat from a nice, pro-chocolate professor...


	21. So Clear but So Unheard

**Disclaimer- **I don't own these characters! And if you thought they were mine, you're the crazy one, not me!

**Author's Note-**Another chapter, huzzah! I am slow. At writing...and most everything else, so forgive the long bouts of non-updatedness. Title is from Silversun Pickups song, "Lazy Eye".....

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

So Clear But So Unheard

It was Sirius' birthday, though Sirius was gone and no longer in need of the day, and Remus had spent the majority of the afternoon trying to evade the same birthday-less fate. An hour ago he had been running like mad, two dark cloaked figures racing behind him, hot on his heels. Now he was standing at the bathroom sink, spitting blood into the basin and holding a towel against a gash on his temple.

Snow battered the window a little more forcefully than he felt was necessary.

The Death Eaters had cottoned on to their competition. Someone else was campaigning for the alliance of the lycanthropes, and they quite obviously weren't keen on the idea. There had been five; the Death Eaters had cornered him outside a small village. Somehow, and he still wasn't quite sure exactly how it had happened, he had successfully hexed two of them into immobility, one had slipped on ice and knocked himself out, and he had escaped the others by darting into the forest… Where, in a Tonks-worthy move, his forehead had been introduced to a low-hanging branch belonging to a large oak. Luckily, he hadn't passed out until _after _he Apparated home, waking later on the slate floor of the hall with his face in an impressive puddle of blood.

His hand was shaking too much to heal the cut without causing further damage to himself, so instead he sent a message to Moody, giving him the basics of the attack. He was sure to have to recall the event in its entirety later on at the Order meeting …But for the moment something else was vying for his attention…

It was his tradition- every year, on James' birthday, he would leave a copy of the latest Quidditch scores on his headstone, heavily annotated with cheeky inside jokes about the Holyhead Harpies. On Peter's (though he had stopped, upon learning that the rat wasn't _quite_ dead yet) he would leave a funny birthday card. For Lily's birthday, he left sunflowers even though it was the middle of winter. He did it to remember them, in ways he thought they'd like to be remembered.

_But Sirius doesn't have a resting place…_

Remus sat on the edge of the bathtub and pondered this- reveling in a dilemma, a problem that he _could_ work with, since as of late so many of his problems seemed to worsen, the more he tried to fix them.

* * *

"Honestly, there isn't much progress to be made, since prejudices against werewolves are still so prevalent among even the more open-minded members of the Wizarding community. Many believe that it is more of a risk to align themselves with the Order, one- because they fear You-Know-Who's side will find out and punish them, and two- even if they do join our side, there is no guarantee that the legislations preventing them from living-"

The soft, dark eyes of the girl sitting down the table focused on him so intently that he thought he might burst into flames. He swallowed hard and stared down at his paper, continuing. "-From living a more normal life will be lifted after the war is over."

The crowd of faces nodded solemnly as he finished his speech and began shuffling through a stack of papers for a copy of his latest report. He tapped the page with his wand, and his handwriting bled in familiarly; blue ink on parchment, neat rows and paragraphs. He lay it down on the table for anyone to read, and the first hand to reach for it was thin, decked with heavy rings and chipped black fingernail polish.

He didn't need to read it, he knew what it said...

--**Ten out of ten interviewed disagree with the severity of previous werewolf regulations, much less with current rulings implemented by Wizengamot. Refuse to assist a faction until standards of living are raised. Intense dislike for Dolores Umbridge is rampant, as are the crude jokes that feature her.**

--**Addressing the contention that Voldemort has a better compensation plan for werewolves in his service- most will not be convinced that this is merely propaganda spread by Fenrir Greyback. A better sort of compensation plan could be provided by the Order, according to lycanthrope Caleb Connor, 28, of London, but would require the cooperation of the entire Red-Light District of Amsterdam and the building of a new firewhiskey distillery.**

**Recent Conspiracy Theories:**

**#1- Dolores Umbridge wants werewolves killed at the full moon to have their skins made into coats. Who will be wearing the coats is yet unknown, but this is a prevalent fear among older and more superstitious lycanthropes. Also, rumour is afoot that werewolf meat will be sold in France as a delicacy when there is finally established an official hunting season.**

**#2- Dumbledore wants werewolves shipped to the Arctic to form a sort of colony in the northern parts of Greenland. This idea, though false, is more readily accepted by the lycanthropic community, though they contend that coats should be provided, though preferably not outerwear made of fellow werewolves, should this be the case. **

**#3-A disturbing and widely held belief that Sirius Black is assisting Voldemort with the incorporation of Siberian werewolves into his service, subduing them with dark magic and using them as transportation to move massive amounts of illegally obtained goods into Mongolia by sled.**

Remus watched a poorly hidden smile flicker across the pale features of the girl as she read it, knocking Mad-Eye Moody's butterbeer over as she passed the report back to him.

* * *

_This is a set-up…_

Remus had his arms up to his elbows in the Burrow's kitchen sink, having found that his dishwashing charm was not quite up to Molly Weasley's standard. It had, in his opinion, been perfectly acceptable; he had been doing his own dishes for Merlin knows how long, and could come to only one logical conclusion- she was trying to stall him. There was something else going on here, and he had an inkling suspicion that Mrs. Weasley was plotting. _Again_. She had avoided his question last week, when he asked if Tonks was coming to dinner. An "Oh, I'm not sure, dear. Say, I think I hear Arthur calling," was all he received in way of a reply.

_This is_ definitely _a set-up...and now we know why Molly's in the Order- she's exceptionally sneaky..._

"Now, Tonks, if you'll- oh, be ever so careful!" Molly bustled in, herding Tonks, carrying a stack of plates. Tonks stopped dead when she saw him, sending a handful of forks clattering to the floor. Molly glanced bemusedly at them, dusting her hands on her apron. "Well, I'll just leave you to it, then. Thanks so much for your help, dears, I've just been so busy, and I still have to plan for Christmas, and whatnot…" She glanced quickly, suspiciously, at both of them, turning around and closing the door behind her as she left.

"Bugger." Tonks bit her lip, depositing the crumby dessert plates on the table and bending down to scoop up the wayward silverware. Her hair was darker than usual, an ashy brown that hung in her eyes and waved wildly in her normal, short-cropped cut. The low neckline of her shirt fell away from her chest slightly as she leaned down- a glimpse of pale skin and familiar curves...

He turned back towards the sink, shaking the image from his mind, and scrubbed at the last bits of gravy sticking to a bowl. He couldn't shake the lingering memory of the way it felt to slip his fingers under her shirt, the way she shivered, or slapped his hand away if his fingers were cold...The way she giggled, or sometimes whispered in mock mortification, "_Remus, whatever happened to your uncanny sense of propriety?"_

"Hello." Tonks said, formally, stiffly. She didn't look at him as she slid the plates into the soapy water.

_Whatever happened to "Wotcher?", Dora?_

"Hello, Tonks," He replied, hoping he didn't sound as awkward as he most certainly felt.

"You want me to finish these?" She asked, motioning towards the stack of dishes left over from the post-Order dinner.

"No, it's fine." He wiped a hand on his pants, leaving a streak of soap suds. "But, um, thanks. Thanks though."

She silently conjured a dishtowel and began drying teacups, waiting a long time before she spoke again, tentatively. "Did Molly tell you I was going to be here?"

Remus paused, deciding that the truth would be best. "I couldn't get a straight answer from her about it. Why-"

"No, wasn't my idea. I'm not _that _low…" Tonks interjected, before he could make any assumptions. The barest flash of a smile on her face caught his eye as he peered at her sideways. "I think we've been played."

"I agree. Played like Gobstones."

She smiled again, almost losing her grip on a willow-patterned teacup. She was keeping it business-like, not mentioning the unfortunate night in the park three weeks ago, not mentioning the fact that they had seen each other since then, at least five times, and neither one of them had spoken to the other. She was quiet, and it felt like something was missing, leaving a gaping hole between them. Remus certainly hadn't expected their relationship to go back to _normal_; there wasn't a normal to go back to. A year's worth of moments, of everything from random conversations, to stolen kisses, to sleepless nights under ridiculous sheets, was impossible to take back, to retract. _Retract_. As if he'd made a mistake.

"She can't help it." Tonks said quietly. "Molly can't help but try and cheer people up, it's in her nature."

He nodded, handing her the now-clean bowl, their fingertips just barely touching. "I know."

_But it_ was _a mistake...._

And it was _his_ mistake, his fault that the girl standing next to him was losing her magic. He could have stopped this a year ago, if he were braver. If he wasn't so afraid of being alone again, if he hadn't gone against his better judgment and let her...

_Let her, my ass. I_ encouraged _her..._

"Are you okay, Remus?" She ventured a glance at him, pausing in her Molly-delegated chore to frown at the cut on his forehead. "That looks like it hurts."

"I'm fine. Just hurt my pride, that's all."

"And the tree." A smirk tugged on the curve of her lips, pulling it like Cupid draws his bow. "You're very hard-headed, Remus. That tree is probably injured pretty badly."

_And of course, she brings out her weapon of choice- sarcasm...What is it with you Blacks and your irresistible annoying...ness..._

"I don't doubt it." He brought another plate up out of the bubbly depths of the sink and started scrubbing determinedly, doing his best to avoid thinking of the last time they had washed dishes together and the more he told himself not to think about it, the more he thought about it, realizing that you can't stop thinking of something if you're telling yourself not to think of that thing, and how he kept thinking in circles that kept bringing him back to the girl standing next to him...

A thin hand wrapped around his, sliding the plate from his fingers. "I'll take it from here." Tonks extracted the dishtowel from his grip and bumped him out of the way. "Go home and go to bed. And for god's sake, put something on that cut. It's freaking me out."

"Okay, then. I'll..um..I'll see you later." He turned to leave, almost grateful for the opportunity, picking his coat from the kitchen chair and starting towards the back door.

_Please, please let me know that you don't hate me completely..._

"Oh, hey..." She called to him over her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"If you ever- well, if you ever think you're gonna need help on a mission...just let me know." She tried to smile. "I still...I still want to be friends, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

Remus had noticed, as if it weren't so painfully obvious, that the further apart they grew, the more stretched and strained she became from trying to hold on to him. Tonks was wearing thin and it was starting to show. The girl hadn't been able to keep it hidden for long, not with her trouble holding a morph, but the change in her Patronus was a dead giveaway. The rest of the Order stared at them when they thought it wouldn't be noticed, and whispered concernedly when they thought it couldn't be heard. His secret had come back to bite him on the arse. Secrets, Remus had always thought, were the most necessary things in the world, and also the most lethal. He'd never had much luck with secrets of any sort.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what he had taken from her. Her secrets, her anonymity. The guise she wore, who she really _wanted_ to be in front of other people. He had taken it from her, taken it for granted. After a while, he had stopped seeing the image she presented; only seeing the real girl and that was only because she let him… One of the few who were allowed to see her, elemental and without mystery, and he had abused the privilege.

He knew the _real _Nymphadora- who was not a morning person at all no matter how she tried, and secretly listened to the BeeGees and could hold up her end of any debate. The girl who didn't give a damn what anyone thought of her, but could be brought to tears if he seemed disapproving. The sweet, smart, funny person hidden behind a defense of plaid and safety pins and spiked hair. Defenses he had torn down in an attempt to understand...

_Understand who? To understand her, or yourself?_

And he knew what it felt like, to have your privacy unexpectedly ripped away from you, baring you to the criticizing, speculative eyes of the world. He knew_ exactly_ how it felt and had done it to her anyway, wantonly. Recklessly. So when he saw her in the park, the look of complete letdown so evident in her eyes, he didn't see a reflection of her family. He saw himself and was terrified by the truth; that she couldn't let him go anymore than he could let her go...that they were the same beaten, broken-down person, split down the middle and separated by more than years, it seemed.

Remus stopped his stumbling walk through the Weasley orchard to Apparate, wishing he could leave his thoughts in the snow to cool, to solidify. With a split-second's hesitation he turned, disappeared, and arrived in the predominantly Muggle side of Godric's Hollow. He ducked into an alleyway and charmed open the gate on a fence surrounding the dog pound, making his way to the back of the building. This was probably a bad idea, but he was going to do it... remembering that he had been here before, _years_ ago, when Padfoot had been picked up by the dogcatcher. He and James had to go "bail him out"; it was fodder for innumerable jokes long into the school year.

The dogs were barking, howling, but they weren't afraid. He made his way past the pets up for adoption- the ones with a chance to be taken home, and into the kennels full of unclaimed, unwanted, and abandoned animals; the ones in line to be put to sleep.

Remus snapped his fingers and every gate opened, the cold clicking of steel on steel.

_Hope you enjoy this, Padfoot. Happy birthday..._

They sped into the dark without a backward glance, eight scruffy dogs bounding joyfully out of the kennels at top speed, out the gates and into the night, kicking snow to the sky. He followed them up the windblown crest of a hill, trudging through knee-deep drifts. The moon above smirked cruelly at him in a cold, bruised sky, but the stars shone with laughter.

* * *

Review, or Moony will set your pets free!


	22. Until the Ground Gives Way

Disclaimer: These characters do indeed belong to JKR, and not me. It's like we're in grade school and I'm borrowing her dolls.

Author's Note: I know I've been slacking off about this fic, but I promise I've got my act together now! This chapter is dedicated to the guy that fought for my honor at the Breaking Benjamin concert last year. Also, I've never written Greyback before….but I thought I'd throw him in this time and see what happens.

Title is from Breaking Benjamin's "Shallow Bay"…

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Until the Ground Gives Way

The light from the pub cast through the frosty window panes, sewing patchwork squares of gold and black on the snow outside. It lay like a blanket under the eaves, untouched by the feet of weary holiday travelers. She was there, inside, sitting with a mug in her hands and conversing genially with the barmaid.

Remus wiped fog from the glass with the sleeve of his coat, moving closer. He could have, if he'd had the nerve, gone in and asked her to the Weasley's Christmas dinner. It wouldn't be as if _he_ was inviting her of his own accord, Molly had already done it at least fourteen times last week. And it wouldn't be anything _special_. They were co-workers and supposedly, still friends, confusing and futile as _that_ concept seemed to him. But it was just _Christmas_, after all. Tonks definitely didn't need to be alone on Christmas. Not to mention, he still had that whole stack of LP's she had coveted during her brief stay at his house, and if he could just find some wrapping paper…

_It's not going to work, Moony, you're just going to make things more complicated…_

The streets of Hogsmeade were practically deserted, though it was barely past twilight the sky was hazy with mist. Remus shivered, winding one hand in his scarf, and thought about going in and ordering a drink.

_She still wants to be friends, remember? _

He moved towards the door, fingers brushing against the glass in the window, leaving melted trails in the frost across the image of his ex-girlfriend.

_But that's not what _you_ want, is it? All or nothing, isn't it? The Muggles call that a _disorder_…_

He stepped backwards onto the slick cobblestone street and bumped into someone, turning to look over his shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sor-"

His voice died before he could say another word. The someone he had bumped into was about his height, with bloodshot, jaundiced eyes and a tangle of matted hair. A hand flew to Remus' throat, sharp nails scratching, digging in and dragging him sideways off the road.

"Hello, there." The voice rasped. Greyback. He froze in panic, the smell of dog and blood and death choked him, bringing back thoughts so long gone and suppressed it was more like a distant nightmare made real than a memory.

_Oh, hell no. Not again…_

"How've you been, Lupin? How's your _mum and_ _dad_?"

He struggled forward, away from the hot, acrid breath on his neck, trying to pry the werewolf's hands off, only to be pulled even further off the road and into the dark forest on the edge of Hogsmeade. He dug his heels into the snow, leaving a trail like the wake of a boat as he tried to wrench away from his attacker.

_Oh, Merlin. This is it. I'm toast…_

"Who are you workin' for? Is it Dumbles, again? The crazy old bastard been paying you?"

"Why do you ask?" Remus gasped. "Thinking about a career change?"

"What are you, a spy? Or a recruiter?" Greyback growled. "Who're you workin' for?"

"My- myself." He took a deep breath, smashing his elbow into Greyback's stomach. "I'm an entrepreneur." The grip on his throat slackened and he ducked away, and was immediately caught again by the back of his coat. Remus fumbled for his wand, still safe in his pocket, trying to run at the same time.

_Moody's going to kill me when he finds out about this…_

"You're not goin' anywhere-" With one heave, Greyback hauled him down and he stumbled into the snow on his own momentum. He landed hard on his back and in an instant Fenrir had him pinned, knee on his chest, clawed fingers digging through his scarf and into his neck.

_If they find more than bits of me…_

"I said, who are you workin' for?" The werewolf picked him up by the shoulders and slammed him into the ground again, and again, until he saw stars. "I saw you, you work with the girl in the pub. I saw you together! The Order of the Phoenix, again, huh? _Answer me_!"

"The _what_?"

_And then Mad-Eye will make them put 'Remus J. Lupin, Obviously Bollocks at Constant Vigilance' on my headstone…_

"Don't play stupid, I _know_-"

"You don't _know_-" He was shocked when he heard Sirius' words coming out of his mouth, angry and through a clenched jaw. "You wouldn't know shit if you stepped in it-"

_Oh, I'm dead meat now, for sure…_

Greyback sneered, yellow eyes glazed like a rabid dog's. "Should I go back to the pub and ask _her_ about your little gang?"

"Fuck off-"

"So sensitive! She your girlfriend? Looks too young for _you_, Lupin." The Death Eater wrapped both hands around his captive's neck, yellow fingernails drawing blood. "But they're never too young for _me_, are they?" He grinned lasciviously. "When you get done with her, I wanna have a go-"

A flood of dread and pure, unadulterated rage hit him like a tidal wave and at the sudden realization that his arms were now free, he crushed his fist into Greyback's face.

* * *

"So you snogged him, eh?"

"Just twice. I'm not a _whore_, Sirius." Tonks snickered.

"What did ol' Moony think of that, then?" Padfoot's barky cackle was loud, even in the hallway where Remus stood, torn between going to Grimmauld's kitchen to find a piece of leftover cake, and staying outside the parlor to hear the rest of this fascinating conversation between his best mate and the girl he fancied. "I bet he was _enthralled_."

"Yeah, he was for a minute." He could almost see the face Tonks made, nose-wrinkled and speculative. "And then he brought up the whole werewolf debacle."

Sirius chuckled quietly to himself this time. "Yes, he tends to do that. Don't be offended, that's just how he is."

"And it's not that big of a deal-" She interjected with, he imagined, that adamant look in her eyes he so admired.

"Well, no, not to you it isn't. Or me. The thing is..." Sirius paused, the sound of a spoon on china filling the gap. "Well, it's caused him quite a bit of trouble in the past…mainly when we were in the First War."

"What kind of trouble? I know he had trouble finding work-"

"No, the Fenrir Greyback brand of trouble."

"I didn't know that." She mused quietly. "What would Greyback want with him?"

"Well, think about it. What _would_ the other side want with him? Number one, Greyback knew who he was. He recognized his name on a dossier, or in a battle, or hell, maybe Peter told him. And two, he also knew that Moony was in the Order of the Phoenix, and had valuable information." He stopped again, drumming his fingers on the table. "And you know Remus, he's like a vault. Nobody's getting anything out of him that he doesn't deem necessary to divulge. So, when he wouldn't spill..."

Remus had a lucky streak, he would readily admit it. Not a very wide lucky streak, but random, intermittent luck that showed itself at strange times. The first time he had met Greyback he had barely escaped with his life because his father had come charging into his room with a wand in one hand and a cricket bat in the other and somehow stopped the werewolf before he killed him completely. The second time he had escaped in the middle of a routine Death Eater interrogation-and-torture session, all thanks to Padfoot and his impeccably timed diversions, but looking back it probably would have been better if he had stayed. He had refused to answer any questions, refused to defect to the other side, refused to assist the werewolf in the 'liberation' of _their kind,_ and Greyback had taken it as a personal offense.

"Hmm. I think you're a smart girl, and you work for the Ministry. If you _really_ wanted to find something out…"

_She could find out_ _so easily_...

All she had to do was look up the death and injury records from the First War. His parents' file was there, tucked between the file for Frank and Alice Longbottom's torture at the hands of her aunt, and the file for the murder of Marlene McKinnon. If Nymphadora ever wanted to find something out, she could pull out that file and see the pictures of his mum, beautiful as ever with blonde hair and dimples. He wondered if Tonks would recognize his dad; they had the same eyes, faded blue and creased at the corners. They had died needlessly- they weren't in the Order; they didn't even know _he_ was in the Order. His parents had been killed because he wouldn't give up any information.

He couldn't tell, the next time he saw her, if Nymphadora had researched any of his family history during those 'incredibly boring desk hours' she had going spare at the Ministry. Then again, he wouldn't have been able to tell if they had _really_ shared a kiss in the dark hall outside her room a few nights ago, either, if he hadn't been reliving it every five minutes since it happened.

He couldn't tell at all. She was just that _good_ at putting on a face. If she did know, she didn't treat him any different, and that made all the difference in the world to him.

* * *

The sound of his knuckles colliding with his attacker's face was sickening and thrilling at the same time.

"Shut up, motherfucker." He growled, shoving the old werewolf away from him. He jumped to his feet as Greyback clutched at his own nose, blood pouring through his fingers. Remus Lupin, chairman of Noble Gryffindor Prats, Inc. though he was, planted a worn steel-toed boot in the middle of his attacker's stomach once, twice, three times, and he kicked him with as much force as he could summon until he fell over into the ice.

"You touch her and I'll _kill_ you. No, better yet, I'll kill you now and save myself-" He panted, kicking him again and Greyback was crawling to his feet on white snow painted with inky Jackson Pollock drops of blood. "Save myself the trouble-" As he moved to draw his wand, the werewolf sprang to his feet, knocking him down once more; it felt like he'd been hit by the Knight Bus, but he rolled out of the way before Greyback could jump on him. The werewolf hit the icy, rocky ground hard and Remus tackled him, jamming the wand against Greyback's throat until he thought it would break.

"_You ruined my life_-"

"I made you _better_ than them-" He snarled. "Think of what you could do for _our_ _kind_."

"I'll tell you what I could do for _our kind_." A shower of white sparks burned at Greyback's chin, singing his hair. "I could kill you and feed you to your little disciples, but unfortunately for me, the Aurors want you alive. _Incarcer-_"

They both jumped at the loud, icy crack of a branch breaking, the unmistakable sound of sneaking footsteps. In the time it took him to glance over his shoulder, Fenrir Greyback wrested himself out of Remus' grip and dashed into the trees, disappearing with a crack.

The voice was soft and the footsteps grew closer as he knelt in the snow. "Oh my god, was that Greyback?"

He nodded, running a bloodied hand through his hair. It was Nymphadora, he could've guessed only by the sound of her boots, the way the buckles clinked like bells. She stood next to him, surveying the scene- the snow ruined by the scuffle. Fifty yards off, the lights of Hogsmeade glowed like a painting, smudged into the sky like messy fingerprints.

_How could you let him get away?_

"Are you okay?" She leaned down to look at him intently, studying his face. "I was leaving the pub and I heard people fighting-"

Remus nodded again, leaning his head against her hip, into the warm curve under her jacket. Tonks moved closer, curling her fingers into the collar of his coat.

"He got away." He whispered, defeated. "He got away, Dora. I let him get away."

"It's alright." She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands firmly on his shoulders. "It's my fault-"

He stared at the ground, unable to look at her. He couldn't, not after he had left her, was failing the Order on this futile mission, not after had let a murderer slip through his fingers.

"It's not."

"I'm not very good at stealth-" Tonks took his chin in her hand, mopping someone else's blood from his cheek with her own scarf. She poked him gently in the chest, smiling cautiously "I thought I warned you about that..."

"It's fine-"

"I just-"

"I'm not blaming you, _Dora-_"

"Let me finish, then, _Remus-_" She said, crossing her arms and giving him a brief glare. "I was just about to say, remind me not to get on your bad side. You fight dirty."

"All's fair," He attempted to smile and failed when she shot him a humorless smirk.

"I beg to differ."

* * *

Review, for your own sakes... Moony fights dirty, you wouldn't like him when he's angry...


	23. Across an Open Field

Disclaimer- The characters aren't in fact, mine. If they were, this wouldn't be _fan_fiction. It would be regular old fiction. But that's not how I roll.

Author's Note- ARGH! It's so difficult to write angstyness during the holidays. Especially when I'm expecting a nice little diamond in my Chanukah gifts this year! The title is from "Boston", by Augustana.

_[Oh dear, you look so lost...]_

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Across an Open Field

Christmas was the worst idea anyone had ever had.

Harry's incessant questioning about the curious state of Auror Tonks had driven Remus nearly to madness, Molly and Arthur's constant watching of him had worn on his nerves like broken glass, and he had nearly bent a fork in half upon Fleur's observation that Tonks had 'let herself go.'

But then again, he had never really been fond of the hols. Even in the Wizarding world, the materialistic side of the holidays crept out and took over. It didn't appeal to him, understandably. And though it had barely been a week since the fight, he was still watching over his shoulder for Fenrir Greyback. Worried that he may attack again, worried that _she_ might be his next victim…

_So much for Christmas spirit…_

The Weasleys had done their damndest to make the holiday happy for their kids and for Harry, as well. It was a struggle; Percy was still siding with the Ministry, which resulted in some interesting dinnertime turnip-slinging on behalf of the rest of his siblings. Harry seemed distracted and distant when he wasn't assaulting his old professor with a barrage of loaded questions. Remus had left soon after Minister Scrimgeour and Percy departed, unable to take another psychoanalysis at the hands of Molly, whether food was provided or not.

He knew what his problem was; he didn't need friends to figure it out for him.

The past year was blurred into an emotion he hadn't been accustomed to, one for which he had no natural tolerance and so became hopelessly addicted to without ever realizing it. And now it was gone.

* * *

_"I beg to differ." _The heavy stare she gave him as they stood in the snow made him feel even colder than he already did, like he was floundering in a bottomless ocean of ice water. His heart was still racing from the panic of fighting off Greyback, but his blood felt like it was frozen. It was getting darker every second they lingered in the grove outside Hogsmeade; shadows were starting to blur around them.

_Okay, that wasn't the right thing to say..._

"Fair, Remus?" She scoffed, tossing her chin-length, toffee-brown hair. The distant lights of the village picked out blonde and copper strands and lit them like fire. "You, of all people, should-"

_Should what? Should know what is and isn't fair in war? In love? Believe me, I know…_

Remus stared at her and then at the ground, kicking a clump of snow. "Just- just forget I-"

Her lips pursed and she looked away, mumbling. "Whatever. We should go write a report for Moody. I've got some parchment-"

"Good idea." He nodded, trying not to let it show that the prospect of being alone with her was more frightening than Fenrir Greyback would ever be. He could dispatch the old bastard; he could send him straight to hell if he ever got the chance. But the girl standing before him gave him worse nightmares than any Dark Creature could; she was inescapable. A single word, a slant of light, a certain time of day would remind him of her, remind him of how he could hurt her. Of how he already had hurt her. She haunted him without knowing it.

"Well, come on." Nymphadora grabbed his arm and turned with the slightest amount of deliberation- she had never been one to hesitate.

Her room at The Hog's Head was tiny, a bed on one wall, a desk on another. The window looked out into the street in Hogsmeade. It was nothing like the bedroom at her flat, which probably had more variety of color in it than the Louvre. This room was dark and cold. She flicked her wand at a lamp on the desk, which caught flame and gave the space a dim glow. Another flick, this time toward the tiny fireplace on the far wall.

Flames flared up and crackled behind the grate.

"You should probably take care of those bruises…"

He watched her write, in blocky, graffiti print that scrawled together, joined up in some places, spaced out in others. No two letters looked alike. A lock of hair swung down into her eyes and she pushed it back behind her ear. Tonks had taken off her wooly military jacket and thrown it across the foot of the bed, under it she wore a dark gray shirt that fit too closely to her natural curves than was required. She leaned forward in her chair, the back of her shirt baring a stripe of pale skin.

_Why...why...why me?_

She shivered as if he'd touched her. He bit his lip and forced his eyes away from her, to his own reflection. His shirt was torn; it would need to be mended. Several buttons were gone, lost in the ice and mud where they had fought. There were bloody smears and a handprint on the gray shirt, and on his coat, which hung on the bedpost. He had a few serious looking bruises on his face and a set of five deep gouges on his neck, another five under the collar of his shirt. His throat was still sore from the near-strangling he had previously encountered. Nymphadora's dark eyes flicked up toward him once as she wrote, concerned- void of the cold look she gave him earlier. Her lips formed the start of a word, but she shook her head and went back to writing.

_Why does she have to be so damn wonderful?_

He did his best to ignore the memory of how his hands fit on her body, the way his fingers had traced the limitless possible versions of her. It had been unsurprisingly like a drug, to give a person that had been denied most normal opportunities a chance to touch and taste infinity. Infinity felt silk over steel, like warm sunshine and earthquakes...tasted like tea and chocolate, sugar, and sweat from his own skin.

_Why can't she just hate me like everyone else, huh? _

He straightened the collar of his ruined shirt, letting his eyes linger on her reflection longer than necessary.

_Like she should…_

A line formed on her forehead as she wrote- concentration. He had rarely seen her so solemn before, and it looked as out of place on her as it did on her cousin. Her fingers drummed on the desk top. She fidgeted uncomfortably.

_Like she's supposed to…_

It had been so long since he had felt this kind of gravity, the pull of something more than obligations and responsibilities; the draw of another person. It was something he typically tried to avoid, as it had yet to end in anything but turmoil. And he put on a noble show of it, denying himself the attention of women to spare them, but to tell the honest truth it was nothing but pure selfishness. Gryffindor or not, he operated on the same pleasure-pain theory that most men did, but to the extreme. Since there wasn't much pleasure to be gained in a life of poverty and unfairness, he did everything he could to avoid pain of any sort. He had no longer cared whether that rendered him a coward or not until she showed up, so bright and vivid she seemed to be a daydream. There was no way she belonged to the dreary, gray world he lived in.

She quietly asked him questions as she wrote, and he gave her answers, feeling numb and distant.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Tonks whispered, as she folded the parchment. She handed it to him and he put it in his pocket.

"I'll be fine." He lied, lips pressed in a thin line. He still couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes.

Everyone had a reason, he had assumed. Everyone lived for something except for those people who, like him, merely existed, breath by breath. Tonks had pulled him into her life, eager to share hers with him; someone without a real life of their own. And just as suddenly as he had found something to hold on to, he had given it up. It was more than emptiness. It was like the rope he had been climbing had frayed out and snapped, or he had cut the mooring and was pulled away by the riptide. It wasn't just numbness anymore; it was a violent lack of her that clawed away at him continually. And he had done the same to her, had dragged her down into despair that she should never have had to experience, and now that she was in it she couldn't seem to find a way out. They were lost together yet eternally separated, stumbling blindly in the dark, each missing the other's outstretched hand by inches.

"I- I wish I could make you happy again." Tonks said abruptly, and flushed pink, looking away from him. He bit his lip and stared at his shoes. "It would be much easier if you'd just _let me_. Don't you remember how things were before?"

He answered with a sigh as she worked her fingers through his hair, tilting his face up to look at her. Her dark eyes were wet with unfallen tears. She pressed her lips against his before he could move out of her reach and he didn't push her away.

"Don't pretend like you don't care." Tonks whispered. "Just don't forget, okay?" She stepped away from him, her fingers still warm against his cheek. "I've got patrol tonight, so I'll see you…whenever. Happy Christmas." She fled from the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

"Hello." The dark-haired woman looked up at him. She was slightly built, with wild, dark brown hair and lips that smiled perpetually- one of the few people on the main street of Godric's Hollow. He took a quick step backwards in shock. It was Bellatrix. But it wasn't Bellatrix; he would be dead already if it was her. It was Nymphadora, unmorphed and twenty years older. But it wasn't her, either- this woman's features were sharper, her eyes sparkled with silver.

"Hello…erm. Mrs. Tonks."

"It's _Andromeda_, Remus." The wind caught her curly hair and blew it across her cheek. She pushed it away. "Formalities are for acquaintances." She smiled politely, shifting her purchases from one arm to the other to shake his hand.

_What is it with you women and your names?!_

"Right."

"Would you mind- here-" She handed him a paper wrapped box and patted a pocket on her cloak. Coins jingled shrilly. "Ah, good. I thought I'd lost those. Would you mind accompanying me to the tea shop? I feel like a drink, and you look like you could do with one yourself."

"I-uh…"

_Oh, god…run away now before she figures out what you've done and joins her sisters in signing your death warrant..._

"Wonderful." She smiled broadly, pulling him by his sleeve toward a building across the street, acting as if they'd known each other for years instead of having only met twice before.

_Mental Note: Every member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black harbors murderous rage for you, and they are all quite bossy…_

"How have you been, Remus?" She sat down at a table and ordered two cups of coffee. "I haven't seen you since…" She paused, clearly in order to avoid referencing the last time they had seen each other. He smirked and stared out the window.

_Since your daughter ended up in the hospital after trying to defend your crazy cousin's godchild from your insane sister?_

Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head. _"_It's been a while, at any rate. Did you have a nice Christmas?""

He shrugged. "I guess."

She nodded. "Nymphadora said you were at the Weasley's. I was hoping you would come over, Ted was as well. We haven't had any visitors in ages." Andromeda sighed. "Even Dora didn't show up this year. I still have all of her gifts."

"She didn't?"

She shook her head, brown hair bouncing around her face. "She said she was busy, but I think she just wasn't in the right mood for a party."

"Not many people seemed to be in the holiday spirit." He swirled the last dregs of his coffee, staring into the mug. It was a generalization- he was trying to be evasive, though knowing full well that if it didn't work on Tonks, it wouldn't work on her mother.

"Well, you see, I was under the impression that there was...more to this than Nymphadora has told me." A shadow flickered across her face, but she hid it well. Disappointment. Impatience. Frustration. He knew the emotions on her face, he had seen them on her daughter more than he wanted to admit, and had been the cause. The dull ache of her absence exploded into real, honest pain.

"You were all she talked about for the longest time, and now she hardly talks at all."

* * *

Review, yo.


	24. Threadbare

**Disclaimer:** These characters aren't mine, no matter what you hear me tell myself.

**Author's Note:** I know I've been gone for what seems like forever, and I have good reasons. It was either write new chapters or write term papers! And I can't fail college, that would kind of negate the purpose of writing anything at all. My apologies for the delay. The title is from The Decemberists' song, "The Crane Wife 3."

_[A grey sky, a bitter sting...]_

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Threadbare

Even after the chill of Christmas, New Year's Eve dropped out of the sky like a bomb, out of nowhere. Suddenly, the chaos of the past year fell on him all at once, and all of the coping and dealing he had done with so many drastic changes in his life felt like it had been for naught. The last of his best friends had died. His half-hearted attempt at a relationship had blown up in his face, and his last mission, undercover into the lycan community had been practically nonexistent as they wouldn't listen to a word he had to say.

Though who would listen to someone whose very eyes belied the hope in his words to the other werewolves? They had seen through his act as easily as anyone.

"You need to quit moping." The voice startled Remus as he stared into the murky depths of the cup of cold tea that accompanied the kitchen table's worth of Order paperwork to sort through. "We're going out." A massive freckly hand closed over his shoulder and shook him, and he looked up into the amber eyes of Bill Weasley.

"I honestly—"

"We're going out." He said sternly, gathering a sheaf of papers and stacking it to the side. The Burrow's table had been heaped with dossiers on known Death Eaters since early morning and it was now nearly sunset; the going was slow as he and Bill had been sorting through and noting the likely gathering places of Voldemort's followers. "You've had a rough couple of months and you need a break. Or a drink. Or both."

"I just don't think—"

"Clearly." Bill smirked, hauling him out of the chair. This was one of the few nights a year that he wasn't working for the bank or the Order, and had made it clear that he was not going to worry about Death Eaters or You-Know-Who. He was going out, and he was taking Remus with him.

* * *

She was sitting on the stair leading up to the stage, a black guitar between her knees with the neck resting against her shoulder. Her hair hung brown around her pale face, illuminated in the dim pub by the cigarette dangling from her lips. The guitarist sat next to her, with the same lank hair and pale skin they could have passed as brother and sister. He nudged her with his elbow, laughing about something Remus couldn't hear over the din of the crowd, and she rolled her eyes, shoving him away.

_Of all the pubs in all the world…_

Bill had brought him to the last place he wanted to be on New Year's Eve—the very place he knew Tonks would be tonight. She wasn't like him; it wasn't in her nature to sulk silently at home.

_No, she has too much pride for that, unlike some of us…_

The band had played a few songs and then someone started playing records through the enchanted sound system. People in party hats had danced with drinks in their hands and wands in their pockets, as if war wasn't an issue, as if their own government wasn't feeding them propaganda and trying to use orphaned children to boost morale.

Tonks got up and jogged down the stairs, making her way to the bar with a stumbling swagger that was born of Black blood and alcohol, one he recognized—she had never had the sultry saunter of a model. The barman handed her a short glass half full of something dark as she leaned against the bar. Her worn-out leather jacket hung on her shoulders over a faded concert tee, her legs stuck out from under a denim skirt, clad in black tights down to her knees. Her wrists and ankles were painfully thin, and he finally realized who she reminded him of—Sirius, after his escape from Azkaban. The dark circles beneath her eyes emphasized the similarities in their features. She took her drink and disappeared back into the crowd.

Someone took the barstool next to his—Bill's decidedly French, suspiciously blonde fiancée.

"Hello, Fleur."

"'Ello, professeur." She glanced in the mirror, her eyes following Bill into the dance floor. "You do not like to dance?"

"Not today."

"You weel not dance weeth Auror Tonks?" The girl asked with a knowing quirk of an eyebrow. She held a glass of champagne in her hand and studied the bubbles.

_Well, I guess everyone knows, now…_

"I don't think she would want to dance with me, Fleur."

"You are her friend, no?" She paused, and daintily took a sip from her glass. "Or ees eet something more complicated?"

"Quite a bit more complicated."

_Complicated. As if that even begins to describe it. As if life could be anything but complicated for me…_

"Because of your condition?" She asked tactfully, without a hint of derision.

"Well--"

"You think the others do not approve?" She jumped in, frowning.

"That's only a small part of the problem."

She smiled in empathy. "Some of the times, I think Beel's maman does not approve, because I am part-Veela, or maybe because I am French, but I do not care. Eet ees not important to make all zee others happy, only zee person we love. And ourselves, of course. But zee two go 'and in 'and." Her eyes found the mirror again, looking for a flash of red hair—it was something he learned to do as well, though the colors he searched for were not so natural.

"Look," Fleur murmured, nodding towards the mirror behind the bar. Remus turned to look behind him, but she put her hand on his arm and tipped her glass toward her own reflection. "No, do not stare—"she laughed, "Be like a spy."

_Covert operations just aren't my thing anymore; I guess…I've spent too much time with Auror Tonks to have any stealth left at all…_

Bill and Tonks were at the edge of the crowd, moving in what could be called a dance, but looked more like an intense conversation set to music. Her hand left his shoulder and gestured wildly, he nodded solemnly, with a furrowed brow. A clear idea of the topic of their discourse formed in his mind, reinforced by the stubborn expression on the pale countenance of the girl and the thoughtful, speculative look on Bill's freckled face.

They were talking about him; he didn't need Extendable Ears to know it.

"I always think Auror Tonks ees so…what ees zee word? Spunky? Weeth her pink hair," added Fleur. "I should apologize—I said something cruel at zee Weasley's Christmas…" She stopped short, for the first time at a loss for words. "I did not know why she stopped turning her hair so many colors, and then Beel told me that he thought she was sad, and he thought that she could not—was not able to change like before."

Her eyes, almost the same shade of blue as his own, met his in the mirror and he felt the imminent need to stare at the scuffed surface of the bar.

"He also told me why he thought such a thing." She smiled gently. "But such thoughts are only speculation. All I know ees if my Beel was so unhappy, I would do anything to make him happy again."

* * *

Immediately after she finished talking to Bill, Tonks made a beeline for the back entrance of the pub, the wide metal door swinging shut behind her.

"I should…"

_Follow her…_

Remus' eyes lingered on the door and his drinking companion noticed, arched a blonde eyebrow and gracefully nodded her assent. He rose from the barstool, starting towards the back and shoving his way past several drunks to reach the hall. He pushed the door open and stepped out into the chilled night air.

"Wotcher."

Tonks was sitting on the concrete ledge behind the building, her legs dangling off the edge. He sat down next to her. Neither of them said anything else for several moments; she rolled her empty glass between her palms and he studied the back of the shop across the alley. In the distance he could see her building; the wide windows reflected the spark of fireworks.

"I...I saw your mother, a few days ago," he finally said, to break the ice.

"I heard." She told her glass. "A little scary at first, isn't she? Looks a bit like her sister."

"Only a bit." He smiled. "She coerced me into joining her for coffee."

"Mum tends to do that." Tonks sighed knowingly. "Did she try to sell me to you? She may not be a Black anymore, but she isn't above human trafficking." She glanced over at him, and even in the dark her eyes were bright with mischief.

_Typical Black. Send them to prison, exile them from their family, break their heart and they still find a way to make a joke out of it…_

"Just twice. I believe her exact words were, 'for three easy payments' and that she would 'throw in a tin of biscuits free of charge.'"

Tonks started giggling. "One time, she tried trading me to Charlie Weasley for Molly's scone recipe." She rolled her eyes, but a fond smile crept into the tired lines of her face. He was silent for a moment, and then added,

"Well, those scones _are_ delicious." She punched him in the arm, though he felt he deserved quite a bit more punishment than a mere punch, and for far more than comparing her to baked goods. "Your mum is a very nice person, Nymphadora."

Andromeda Tonks was a formidable pixie of a woman, who, though she looked like her sister, did not adhere to the family motto. She _did_ fit the basic Black insanity mold though, as proven by her willingness to accept the fact that her daughter was dating an impoverished man a decade her senior, previously known to hang about a once-wrongly convicted, later-escaped, now-dead fellow(sometimes a dog), who also happened to be her younger cousin. The werewolf topic had been a non-issue at Mrs. Tonks' tea table until he brought it up on his own; earning himself a look he had seen so often before that he knew which side she would take before she opened her mouth.

"I raised my daughter to understand that people deserve love and respect, no matter whom they are, or what they _think_ they are," Andromeda fixed him with a level stare. "And to know that real love doesn't give you a choice. You can't help who you love; it's the only indomitable magic. There is no counter, no antidote. It's a pure thing, a truth, and when you let it overcome prejudices and boundaries, nothing is impossible anymore. Love doesn't make us gullible fools, it makes us omniscient...it gives us something bigger to believe in than prophecies, and sages, and the weak, limited power of our own hands. Nymphadora knows this, young as she may seem."

To hear it from someone who actually knew, who had suffered through hate because of who she loved and who had survived anyway did not reassure him. She wasn't upset at her daughter for who she chose, she was angry at _him_ for avoiding the truth—for surrendering to the force of intolerance without ever trying to fight the battle.

_If you had any friends at all, Moony, they would be ashamed of you…_

He leaned back against the wall of the pub, staring up at the Muggle fireworks that hissed and snapped against the velvety black sky. Andromeda's words still wore at him, pacing through his subconscious like they had for the past two weeks.

"Don't call me "Nymphadora," please."

"Right," Remus mumbled, when she winced at the mention of her name. Her usual look of disgust had been replaced with a sorrowful sigh. She had never cared whether he used her full name or not when they were alone, though she had never preferred it like he did, enjoying the way she shivered In his arms when he whispered it against her neck.

She looked pointedly away from him, tracing her fingers across the cement. "I researched it, you know…While you were out doing your spy thing." She scuffed her palms along the damp ledge where they sat, pulling her knees against her chest.

"Researched what?"

"The occurrence of Patronus changes—it's really rare, did you know that?"

"I knew."

Church bells across the city started pealing the count to midnight, reverberations making the empty alleyway sound like a cathedral.

"I thought you probably would. Since you're the expert and such. You know the odds then, that it's hardly ever been documented. And you know what it's associated with..."

_Unrequited love..._

She nodded as if reading his mind, the light from the yellow streetlamp washing out her face until she was as pale as her vampire friend. He leaned back against the damp brick, feeling the threads on his coat catch against the mortar. The silence in the alleyway was cold and painful. Tonks took his hand in hers, working her fingers through his in a familiar way, then held his palm against her cheek.

"You're warm," she whispered. Tonks closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and with a pained look she slowly shifted her hair color from ashy brown to blonde and back—an action that would have taken but a split-second before now took extreme amounts of effort. He felt ill, and the toll of the bells sounded like a funeral dirge.

"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, I…was so afraid, that night with Greyback," she said quietly. "I've never seen anyone fight…like _that_... And then I—and then I screwed it up, I let him get away from you when you had him, just _right there._" Tonks put her chin on her knees, her fist closing around empty air. "Like with Bellatrix—I had her, she was _right there_ and I—I—"

He tightened his fingers around hers, leaning down to end her apology with a kiss, the first time he had even touched her since September. Her fingers felt fragile in his, the curve of her cheekbone breakable, like a porcelain doll. They way she gasped, and how her body tensed in surprise didn't deter him; he pressed his lips to hers and she returned the favor. She slid both arms around his neck and held on to him as if her very life depended on it; a death grip on the collar of his coat. The taste of her lips brought back stirring memories that he had long been trying to suppress.

He pushed away from her, caught his breath and kissed her again, fiercely, before they both disentangled themselves from one another at the sound of a Muggle car passing their corner.

"It's midnight, Dora." He whispered.

"I noticed." Tonks leaned her head against his shoulder, quiet until she added, in a pleading voice, "Come home with me?"

A dozen conflicting emotions invaded his psyche, each one vying to be heard.

_She would forgive you... it's a new year, you could start all over again..._

_But the war isn't over yet, and even if it is..._

"Not tonight..."

"Or any night, for that matter." She finished, attempting to bury her face in the lapels of her own leather jacket. "Well, don't say I never invited you." She dropped from the hip-high ledge onto the street below, turning to face him. In one smooth, unlikely move she seized his coat and pulled him down to kiss him on the cheek again. "At least I give _you_ a chance." She shifted her hair, more quickly this time, to black, but it faded back to brown before she made it around the corner of the building.

Though she wasn't able to hold a disguise, he noted, Tonks could still put on a brave face, and that was more than what he could do.

* * *

Reviews?


	25. Looking So Dissatisfied

Disclaimer: My own characters wouldn't have nearly as much fun. So I borrowed JK's.

Author's Note: I'm doing my best to keep this fic updated! It's going to get happy again soon, so bear with our OTP while they sort things out.

The title is from _Valentine's Day_, by Linkin Park.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Looking So Dissatisfied

Remus, as helpful as he wanted to be to the Order of the Phoenix, always seemed to miss important events due to a previously scheduled appointment. He had come to terms with it long ago; it wasn't his fault, and he did what he could to help when he was able. But on days like today, when he was of no help whatsoever, he lay on the sofa because the bedroom was too far to walk, and tried to read until the steady beat of rain on the roof lulled him to sleep.

The rattling of the window startled him from under the book, half-covering his face where it had fallen when he had drifted into an eerie dream about a girl that followed him through the forest, calling his name.

"Remus! Hey!" A fist pounded the doorframe; a dark-clothed body barely visible through the misted glass, blending into the black trees and gray clouds. "Moony! Open the door! _Please_!"

The familiar sound of his name had him on his feet before he was truly awake. He threw the door open without pause for identification—Mad-Eye would have skinned him alive for it, but something in the sound of the voice was off, was wrong. The doorknob hit the wall when it slipped from his hand, smashing a circle of white plaster into a fractured spiderweb. Remus took a startled, stumbling step backwards.

It was Nymphadora, soaked completely through with ice-cold rain and standing numbly in the doorway. Her hair dripped in dark rivers down her back, clinging to her neck. The front of her grey Auror robes were stained, smeared with amounts of blood that turned his stomach.

"Dora?" He immediately seized her shoulders and pulled her into the house, fingers tracing her face, her neck, her wrists, checking for injuries. A knot of panic took the place of his stomach. "Are you hurt? Is this your blood?"

_Oh, no. No, no, no…_

"No, I'm okay…" Tonks took a deep breath, trying to extract herself from his hands. "It's—it's from work—"

He felt the floor fall out from under his feet—it wasn't _her_ blood blotched across her robes, thank Merlin, but whose was it?

"Dora, did someone get hurt?"

She nodded slowly, as if debating what to say in her head. "Yeah, but it's okay—"

"Do you need to go to St. Mungo's? I'll take you—"

"No!" Her cold, damp fingers clutched at his sleeve as he reached for his coat behind the door. "Don't leave! You can't! There was an attack—Greyback bit a kid last night and then there was this…riot. It's not safe…Don't leave."

"Okay, we'll stay here." He nodded, smoothing her hair. "What—what happened, Dora?"

Her lips parted, she breathed the start of a word, then turned and dashed out the open door in to the garden, collapsing near the hedge to heave into the grass. He ran out after her, stumbling to his knees on the slippery, dead lawn. He gathered up her dripping hair in one hand, wrapped an arm around her waist. In a matter of minutes he was as rain-soaked as the girl.

"Remus?" Tonks sat up, wiping her face with the sleeve of her robes and streaking her chin with mud. "Can I borrow your bathroom?"

* * *

It was unnerving—Tonks had barely said anything at all, giving him the least amount of details he needed to assemble a disastrous scenario in his mind. Sirius had always said that Remus had more imagination than was necessary for a person, and that often he didn't put it to a proper use. It wasn't until she had asked to stay the night that he found out anything at all, though it wasn't from her own mouth.

"I can't—I don't want to talk about it right now, okay? It's…" She shrugged defeatedly and stared at the floor. "Can we talk later?"

"That's fine, whenever you feel up to it—"

"Thanks."

She had left him standing in the kitchen, still trying to overcome the nightmarish sight of her at his door, and had gone to take a shower. Now she was asleep in his bed down the hall, and he stayed in the front room and speculated about the information she was withholding from him.

_If someone we know was hurt, she would've surely said…_

_And right after the full moon, too? So it must have something to do with…_

_But she doesn't need to show up like _that_, demanding that I don't leave the house and not giving me a valid reason for it…_

A tawny owl tapped on the window as he sat by the newly-kindled fire. He let it in, hurriedly taking the note from its talon and the bird flitted over to the hearth and began to preen water from its feathers, shivering. Remus unfolded the note— a sketch of a hippogriff, and spelled it into the familiar handwriting of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

_I'm assuming our colleague is with you, when her shift ended this afternoon she said she was going to your house. I'm also assuming she hasn't told you anything about the incident that took place earlier today, which is probably correct, if I know her at all.  
Last night, Greyback attacked and killed a boy as retribution against the Montgomery family, for their resistance to cooperate with the Death Eaters. Greyback, as usual, evaded arrest. How surprising.  
The MLE handled that event, but later on, some of the nearby residents formed a mob and were rioting in the street—they had chased a known lycanthrope, with no previous offense to his name, out of hiding and into an alley on the edge of town. Tonks and I were sent on this particular call to quell the mob. Somehow one of them had got a Muggle gun, and shot and killed the fellow before we could get him out. Tonks was almost hit. The crowd scattered and we couldn't find the shooter, though we did find the gun. We're still not certain why the suspect chose to use a gun—Tonks belives, as I do, that the shooter was employing a loophole in the law; since the Wizarding community has no laws against using Muggle Artefacts that haven't been charmed, it was a way to commit murder without using an Unforgivable._

_There have been a few more isolated events, but thanks to the information you collected on your mission, we've been able to locate and warn the neutral-party werewolves, and tell them to lay low until this blows over. Someone will likely contact you tomorrow._

Despite the warmth of the fire crackling on the hearth, he felt a chill fall over him; the heavy dread associated with nearby Dementors, though he knew there were none around. So this was what had happened—what she was keeping from him. His suspicions had been correct—there had been lycan involvement. Not just _involvement_, but the deaths of two innocents, one at the hands of a werewolf and the other merely because he was a werewolf.

_No wonder she forced you to stay at home._

* * *

Remus lingered near the foot of his bed and watched her sleep for a moment, afraid to wake her up and ask outright what had happened. She stretched and breathed softly, curled under the duvet with her long, thin arms wrapped around a pillow. The lit candle on his night table fluttered dimly, barely glimmering on the coppery strands in her hair, on the thin chain that pooled in the curve of her throat, and on a tiny, cut glass bottle placed off to one side of the window ledge. Its contents swirled like trapped mist, soft silver and gold in the light.

_A memory…_

He reached for it, tentatively picking it up to tilt it back and forth in his fingers, watching the cloud of memory curl against the glass. He knew what it was –the memory of the incident that had taken place earlier. After reading the note, he was sure of it. For a moment, he hesitated, then hastily pocketed the bottle and made his way down the hall to his study. Quietly slipping a stone basin out of his desk, he tipped the bottle into its already swirling contents. He took a breath and leaned down, finding himself in a shadowed, crooked alley between buildings in a Wizarding community.

Hazy sunlight glowed at the end of the street and a crowd of people were silhouetted, shouting angrily—many had their wands drawn. The deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt rang out over the bedlam, magically amplified and even more authoritative.

"Please, back up. Keep calm, this man has done nothing to hurt anyone."

A few feet away were Tonks and a thin, pale young man with dark blond hair standing side-by-side. He was young but tired, and he never took a step to hide behind either Auror. He crossed his arms and stared away from the crowd, which pressed into the alley, shouting obscenities. Kingsley held his ground, keeping the mob at bay.

"The Ministry has this situation under control, if you would all please return to your homes—" Someone flung a hex and it barely missed him, skimming over his bald head and ricocheting off a brick wall. "What the hell? Tonks, call in some backup, will you?" Shacklebolt shouted over his shoulder. She quickly cast her Patronus, the exact replica of his own; the same shoulder-high, quicksilver-colored timber wolf. The man standing next to her gave her a stunned look. She smiled at him as she whispered her message to the form and sent it on its way with a flick of her wand. He smiled back, grimly, and on closer inspection Remus could see angry, half-healed gashes across his face and forearms.

The crowd surged forward, more hexes flying wildly through the air. Kingsley and Nymphadora deflected them, backing even further into the alley.

"Take him and get out of here!"

She grabbed the man's arm, quickly turning to Disapparate, but he shoved her roughly to the ground and a reverberating crack rang out in the alley. He landed on the pavement a split-second after she did, blood blooming across the collar of his shirt. The memory started to blur around the edges—Tonks had hit her head on the pavement, but she sat up dizzily. The ruckus of the crowd grew louder as people started to run; if the sound of the gunshot had spooked them all, the sight of the downed Auror scared them witless.

"King! Send for Healers!"

"Tonks, are you okay—"

"Now, dammit!" Her fingers never trembled or fumbled as she unwound her scarf from her neck and pressed it tightly to the man's wound. Blood quickly seeped through and stained the fabric as she tried spell after spell to stop it, failing each time. She was talking to him, in a voice so low he could barely hear her. "It's okay…You're gonna be alright, it's okay."

For all of the calm of her voice, Remus could feel the tension of her memory; everything moved and sounded as if on the verge of shattering. Every detail was noted—the angle of light, the reverberation of sounds in overwhelming definition. He could almost smell the tar of the pavement, the hot, metallic scent of blood and gunpowder, the cold, wet smell of the air as it began to rain. The boy, he could barely have been twenty-five, looked up at her. He was shaking; his hands were trembling, trying to take a grip on her robes. His face blanched, flecks of blood appearing on his lips as he coughed convulsively. With a spell, she Summoned the bullet from the wound and examined it quickly.

"Oh, god…oh, no…" She pulled him up into her arms, putting more pressure on the wound. "King? Kingsley? _Kingsley_! Where are the goddamn Healers?"

Shacklebolt sprinted to her side, took the bullet from her fingers and inspected it. A grim look flashed over his face as he met her eyes and he shook his head minutely as he helped prop the victim up. Tonks' voice shook as she starting combing blond hair back from his brow, now beaded with sweat. "Look at me! Look at me, it's gonna be fine, okay?"

Abruptly, the whole memory shuddered violently and fell into a haze around him, darkening as if a curtain had been drawn. He was back in his study, trying to catch his breath. The scene had left him shaking as well, and nauseated.

"What are you doing?"

The voice, little more than a whisper, made him jump. Tonks was silhouetted in the doorway, with a patchwork blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, casting a long shadow across the floor of the study.

_Bloody hell, she's going to kill me now…_

"Dora—I was…I'm…"

"Is that—?" She pointed at the empty bottle on the desk. "Were you—?"

"I wanted to know—you wouldn't tell me—" He made a feeble attempt at defending his actions, just as he always had with her, knowing all the while it was of no use. "I needed to know—"

"Yeah," she huffed, "So you did. And now you've got another excuse lined up for me, I imagine." The lit lamp on the desk shone yellow light across her features; she looked as tired as he had ever felt. "Does it go something like this? 'We can't be together, Tonks. People shoot werewolves for sport now, and it would be going against my better judgment to put you through such a thing—'"

"It's not an excuse, it's the truth!"

_Shut up, Remus. You don't like the truth anymore than she does…_

"_Truth_?" She scoffed. "Fuck the _truth_! What's _true_ anymore, anyway, Remus?"

"Don't you see, Dora? Those people would've just as soon shot _me_—or _you_, if they knew about half the things we've done—"

"Don't _you_ see?" She stepped into the room, arms crossed in defiance. "Those people are more monstrous than you could ever dream of being, and you act like it's in their right to be murderers. Like it's their right to be cowards, they don't want to own up to the fact that there's nothing to be afraid of—because then there would be nobody left to blame for their problems." She glared at him. "And you're acting just like them, Remus. They don't give you a chance, but you don't give yourself a chance, either."

He couldn't say anything—his voice had fled like his body had wanted to do, but he couldn't move unless it was towards her, couldn't say anything unless it was "sorry," and neither action seemed to suit the moment. She was fuming, he had never seen her so angry. Her lips trembled, the ends of her dark hair shifted to black and red as he watched; she finally had an emotion to control, after months of emptiness.

"I knew you'd find out eventually—but I wasn't going to just…concede and give you another excuse—"

"Nymphadora—"

"I just can't let you win like that—'cos if I let _you_ win it's like I'm letting _them_ win. It's like—it's like, you're staring into the fucking abyss and if you get any closer, you'll fall in, like you don't even care! You let those—people, like Umbridge, use their excuses on you—you use them yourself—" Tonks batted his hand away as he reached for her, her voice climbed an octave. "But_ I_ sure as shit won't take mistreatment because of who or what people think you are, or what I am, and—and— "

Remus caught her as she collapsed into tears.

"He was just a—a guy—And they shot him," she gasped between sobs, her face pressed against his shoulder and her fingers clutching at his shirt. "They shot him—with a silver _fucking_ bullet—like he was some sort of animal—he didn't hurt anybody—"

"It's okay," he whispered, pushing stray strands of hair back from her cheek.

"And he died right there, I was holding his hand… I didn't even know his name—and the goddamn Ministry is letting Greyback run free while this kid had to die—"

He said nothing, wrapping his arms around her. He knew what was coming next, and he wasn't surprised when she said it.

"And I just—I just keep thinking, that could've been _you_, Remus, that could've been you, and I was so scared…"

Remus was no longer convinced that he would be a threat to her while transformed with the Wolfbane potion; she was a fully-trained Auror, but danger wasn't limited to sharp teeth and claws—something she had witnessed in person earlier that day. Their relationship couldn't exist as it had before, as a secret between two secretive people. To take it any further during times like these meant to put themselves out in the open, to paint a target on their foreheads.

He wanted to tell her that she _should_ be scared—not of him, but of what other people thought of him, though he knew it would have made no difference to her.

"I can't let them do that to you—I _won't_," she whispered fiercely, laying her cheek against his shoulder. "I promise."

He sighed and pressed a kiss to her hair. "I know."

* * *

Yes, it's a bit of a cliffhanger, but I promise I'll be back...  
If you make it worth my while;)


	26. These Matters of Security

_Disclaimer:_ Don't use your toaster in the shower. I mean, these characters belong to JK Rowling.

_Author's Note_: I've been doing my best to update this, please don't abandon ship! This chapter is dedicated to my brother, whose favorite character (second only to Sirius) is due to make a guest appearance...and because when he talks about "Bella," we know it's not a Twilight reference…

Title is from "Pace is the Trick," by Interpol, one of the most beautiful songs in existence.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

These Matters of Security

"For being so intelligent, you sure aren't one to be reasoned with."

"Not when your methods of reasoning are two percent mildly convincing argument, ninety-eight percent pre-meditated seduction."

"So what's it to you if I take advantage of all my available resources? I'm only making up for your ambiguity."

"I am _not_ ambiguous." Remus cleared his throat and tapped a cup of tea with his wand, heating it to a drinkable temperature. "I'm keeping you out of harm's way—"

"Out of Harm's Way? But I've lived there all my life; I couldn't _bear_ to move out of Harm's Way."

"That's not funny."

"Ishtoo," she yawned, stretching out in the squashy chair near the door. She laced her fingers together over her head and sighed, cracking her knuckles.

"Nymphadora, you saw with _your own eyes_ what might happen—and they weren't even Death Eaters."

Tonks brought her long, thin arms down and smacked her palms against the chair. "The key word here is "might," and it doesn't matter, I'll be _ready_ next time—"

"There shouldn't have to _be_ a next time."

The wind pounded against the cottage, catching in the eaves and singing across the chimney, hollow and metallic.

"You don't mean that."

_Of course I don't mean it…_

"You know that this is it for us, if things keep going on this way. I don't want to be the reason for you losing your job, or for you being ostracized—"

"Okay, number one—I'm beginning to hate my job anyway because all we do is put the wrong people in Azkaban, and number two—I don't even _like_ ostriches—"

"Ostra_cized,_ Nymphadora."

"Whatever." She stared out the window, frowning. "I get you—you don't want to risk _responsibility_, you know that if things don't work out for us, you can't blame it on the fact that you have a problem, because I'd already decided that it wasn't a—_problem_, just a slight inconvenience."

"A slight inconvenience? Catching a cold is a slight inconvenience." He closed the book in his hand, opened it again, then slammed it shut and tossed it onto the end table, turning to face her. "Nymphadora, waking up as a monster once a month is what most people would call a considerable nuisance."

"I've always been able to find ways to work around it, personally."

"That was low."

She sniggered, rolling her eyes. Tonks was in better spirits now than she had been the evening before, results of a dose of Pepper-Up potion and the two cups of tea he had laced with firewhiskey, just to settle her nerves. Her awkward, tense silence had left with the rain, though she refused to go back to sleep. The sun was rising, gray washed and unwelcoming over the garden hedge as an owl landed on the window box. Tonks climbed to her feet and pushed the window up in its frame, ushering the bird inside with a wave of her hand. She untied a scrap of parchment from the owl's leg, unrolling and scanning it. Tonks crossed the room and pressed the deciphered note into his hand. "We gotta go."

He read it quickly, taking in the square, boxy handwriting of Alastor Moody, addressed to him. She was throwing her cloak over her shoulders, pulling her boots on.

"If they've sighted Death Eaters, I _have_ to go."

"Nymphadora, are you sure you feel up to it? This is for the Order, not a Ministry assignment."

For the first few hours after she had arrived the evening before, she had shivered uncontrollably and hadn't said a word. Even after their confrontation in the study, there was no resolution—she was determined to stay with him until the situation blew over, though she harbored no anger towards him for intruding into her memories.

"Does it matter?"

He was silent for a moment. She would go no matter what he said, so he opted for the truth, no matter how blunt it was. "I don't want to see you hurt."

"A bit late for that, yeah?" She took the letter from his hands and tossed it into the glowing coals of the fire.

* * *

With a crack he Apparated alone into a clearing surrounded thickly by trees. She had left, in standard Auror procedure, a half-minute before he had, and to the other side of the small hill. They could cover more ground and employ more stealth by arriving separately. It was bleak and gray even though the trees were budding. The new green leaves stood out in odd contrast against the damp bark and heavy clouds. Remus took his bearings, plotting a course north towards a rocky rise in the landscape. He had spent enough time sneaking through the Forbidden Forest in his school days to know how to tread lightly, enough time spying for the first Order to know better than to wear a cloak that would drag, so when he heard the crackle of boots on a twig and the rustle of fabric across the ground he stopped.

_Damn._

Glancing to the right he saw a dark-robed figure draw even with him, another on the left.

"Well, well." A rough, hacking voice coughed behind him. "Look at you, Lupin. All done up like a filthy Muggle."

He turned around slowly, tensed and ready to fend off an attack. "I like the shirts."

"If the Muggles knew what you are, they wouldn't be selling anything to you. What are you doing here?" Fenrir Greyback sneered, his jaundiced eyes fixed on Remus.

"If the Muggles knew what _you_ are, they'd be parading around with your head on a pole before noon." He grinned affably, taking a step forward as the smirk on Greyback's face fell.

_This might work…_

"Which doesn't matter to me, you know, I'd end up the same way. Guilt by association, they call it." He put out his hand in a peaceful gesture. "Actually, I'm here to see _you_."

"Me?"

_He's never been the brightest spell in the book…_

"Yes, you. I have some information you might appreciate. Top-secret."

"I don't trust you any farther than I could through you, traitor."

_Or it might not…but it's worth a try…_

"The feeling is completely mutual."

"What do you want with me?"

"Well," he continued in convincing seriousness. "While I was on that…erm, business trip—you might remember our little conversation in Hogsmeade? Since then I've had a bit of a problem with the…ah, priorities of my…uh, employers. They seem to put more value on Wizarding life than on, say…_mine_. It's a bit of a conundrum--double standards, you know...all of that equal-rights agenda is just tosh. So I guess this makes me a double traitor."

Greyback leaned in closer, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I have all _sorts_ of information on this…resistance, as it were."

"Like what?"

_Merlin's pants, he believes it… _

Remus motioned him closer. He was a decent enough actor to go three decades without having his secrets dragged out for the Wizarding world to see. It was a sick sort of talent, hiding the ability to eviscerate people behind a convincing smile and a well-timed joke.

_No wonder Peter tried to make them think you were a traitor…_

"Like, the Order of the Phoenix hires the better liars." He seized Greyback's robes with one hand, dragging him down and bringing his own knee up, smashing it into the Death Eater's nose. Remus let him drop to the ground, firing a stunning spell at the nearest accomplice while without taking his eyes from the other, who spun into nothingness and left his two companions behind. Greyback tried to crawl to his feet and Remus shot another Stupefy, stunning and binding him.

As he turned to magically bind the other Death Eater, a voice rang out through the trees, angry and harsh—dragging up a moment he had tried to forget.

"_He's dead, Dora. Sirius is gone…Bellatrix did it…"_

_"I'll kill her…__I'll fucking kill her__…" _

Without a moment's hesitation he turned and dashed up the hill, to the edge of a clearing.

It was like a scene from every nightmare he'd had for the past year—she was in the circle of trees, fiercely dueling someone in robes as black as her own, hooded and masked. The two whirling figures slowed, pacing the circle with wands aimed, each pointed at the other's throat. He broke into a run, darting behind trees to keep his approach hidden from the Death Eater, who Vanished the mask with the snap of fingers, shaking back the hood. He froze a few yards from the stone fence that separated them.

It was Bellatrix.

"Oh, look what we have here!" The female Death Eater cooed mockingly. "An ickle Auror!"

"Wotcher, bitch." Tonks spat, launching into another rapid-fire combination of curses. She spun, ducking away from the hexes her aunt sent flying and deflecting them back until the two women were circling so fast he could barely tell who was whom in the flashing glare of their spellwork. The damp grass beneath their feet started to blacken, spreading in smoldering rays around them.

_Move, Remus! Move, move, move or she's dead…_

Bellatrix cackled madly and Tonks matched her, her frenetic laughter pierced through the hiss of curses as she hit her aunt with one stunning spell, then another, though only forcing the formidable woman backward. Hit with a rebounding spell, Nymphadora stumbled slightly, quickly regaining her balance.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit! Run, Dora!_

"I didn't know they were letting you out to pway with the grown-ups, ickle Nympho." Bellatrix panted, resuming a pace around the circle. "Who taught you to duel? Think of what you could do for our side…if you were a pureblood like me—"

Tonks was breathless, but the steel in her voice cut through the wind like a blade. "My blood's as Black as yours, but at least my hands are clean."

A muffled snap punctuated the silence; the sound of Disapparition, though neither turned to look. The unbound Death Eater had escaped, likely taking Greyback with him.

"It's a pity we have to kill you." Lestrange laughed. "The Dark Lord would appreciate someone with your unique…_talents_."

"The Dark Lord can shove it." Tonks threw two fingers up at her aunt, the expressions on their faces eerily similar in the hazy morning light.

Bellatrix's mouth gaped open in rage. "You'll pay for that, shapeshifting freak! _Crucio!_"

* * *

"You're goin' to tell us where the headquarters is… I don't care how long this takes." Amycus Carrow jabbed a wand against his throat, forcing his chin up.

"What's the matter? You can talk, can't you? Or does Dumbles whip you with a newspaper if you bark?" Alecto snorted, giggling. "_Sectumsempra_."

Remus bit his lips to keep from screaming as another gash opened on his arm. He couldn't see it, his hands were bound behind his back, behind the chair he sat on. The mission had been compromised, Peter had somehow slipped out of the Death Eater's grasp and now he was alone with them. The Carrows.

"Greyback left us instructions on what to do with you if you didn't start talkin'—you should've just went with him, sonny."

He didn't even know where he was, but he knew what night it was. He was supposed to be home, but he had taken James' place at the last minute for a late-night recon mission; he should've been back early that morning but had been captured and detained in a hellhole of a warehouse until now.

"Well, obviously he's not goin' to give us any information if we ask nicely. Maybe you should be more persuasive, sister."

They had been at this for almost two hours.

He cleared his mind, knowing what was coming next. The Carrows had a reputation among members of the Order for using only the most painful spells they could manage to mutter.

_Don't think about it…don't think about…don't…_

"_Crucio!"_

It hurt worse than he had ever imagined, as excruciating as the pain of transformation—pain that was already beginning. It would be sunset shortly; the moonrise just following twilight. The Carrows would kill him before then, or he would kill them afterward.

"_Crucio!"_

_This isn't real…this isn't real…_

"_Crucio!"_

The spindly chair he was bound to was starting to splinter from his weight, from him thrashing about. The edges of his vision were starting to darken, things were starting to spin and blur.

"It isn't working, Amycus. He's not talking."

The man forced his head up again, glaring at him from a fuzzy, non-focused face. In the darkness behind his captors he spied Sirius, creeping towards him with a finger to his lips. Amycus and Alecto never heard him. In a flash of red he had Stupefied both of them—Remus knew he would never understand how Sirius had found him, and he never asked.

"Quiet, there are others here. _Diffindo_. God, Moony…what the hell?" He found the long cuts down his arms and across his shoulders, his voice darkening.

"It's not as bad—as bad—" The opaque windows of the dirty warehouse they were trapped in started to fill with pale light. "D-ddamn." Remus struggled away from the chair, shaking. "We gotta go."

"We can't Apparate like this, you'll splinch for sure." Sirius whispered, "I'll have to Stun you, too."

The sound of a slamming door made them both jump as Remus scrabbled around the workbench on the side, looking for his wand. "No—just _go_." He could feel the cognitive parts of his mind shutting down and instinct taking over. "You've already made enough noise—they'll find you—"

"Dammit, do you know how much trouble I went through to find _you_? I'm gonna beat Peter's brains out for letting them get you—" Sirius shook his shaggy black head, whispering fiercely.

His focus skewed for a moment as he climbed to his feet, pressing his aching hands to his head.

"Uh…I have an idea." The blurry figure of Padfoot took his wand away and stowed in a pocket, flexing his fingers. "I'm really sorry about this."

"I—wha—?"

Sirius brought his fist back and punched his friend in the face with as much force as he could summon.

Remus blinked once, then fell forward, down for the count but still transforming. Sirius caught him.

"Well." The disowned heir of the House of Black grinned before he disappeared into thin air, carrying an unconscious werewolf. "That was a handy little trick."

* * *

Tonks and Bellatrix shouted the Unforgivable incantation in one voice. The spells met between them in a flash of light and fire, and contracted into nothingness, then exploded with a force that knocked them yards out of the circle, into the trees. Both landed on their backs, shrieking in pain from the combined curses.

_This isn't real…this isn't real… _

At the sound of her scream he broke into another flat-out sprint, vaulting the low stone wall even though his body protested. Bellatrix was climbing to her feet.

"_Protego_!" He shouted, casting the spell as he stumbled down the slight hill, still running. Tonks jumped to her feet behind him, hiding a wince as she immediately took a defensive stance.

"Is this your pet, little Auror? Your guard dog?" Her aunt grinned with yellowed teeth on the other side of the shield charm. The blue light shimmered like waves of heat. "I remember you, half-blood." She hissed, her black and matted hair caught around her face like brambles around a weathered statue.

Bellatrix had been pretty once, and whip-smart— a Slytherin prefect several years older than her troublemaking Gryffindor cousin. He had seen a picture of her, on which Sirius had drawn a mustache and beard, tacked to the common room bulletin board. The wicked, knowing Black smirk on her face was so familiar to him then—the same one Sirius had worn, and now— the one Tonks wore until he had taken the smile from her lips. He had thought her indomitable; that nothing could drown Nymphadora's personality or wash her out. Remus now realized what the combination of passionate determination and extreme disappointment had done to her aunt, and her cousin, and what it threatened to do to her. What he was allowing to happen to her…

"So did the rest of your friends."

"They will receive their punishment. I will not be defeated by traitorous freaks of nature!" She screeched at them, glaring."The Dark Lord will see to your end." Bellatrix whirled around, disappearing with a crack like the sound of breaking bones. The echo slowly died, leaving a heavy, damp breeze winging around them, whipping at her cloak.

"Hear that, Remus?" Tonks turned to him, her voice emotionless. "I'm a freak of nature, too."

In one long step he was at her side, wrapping both arms around her, working one hand through her wispy, wind-tangled hair as he leaned down to kiss her.

She didn't pull away, instead moving into him, her lips working fervently against his.

"Take me home, please." She whispered. "Please."

* * *

Review or I'll sic the guard dog on you. Unless, of course, that's what you want. ;)


	27. As Sure as You Have Eyes

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine or yours, bwahaha. :D

Author's Note: Another chapter for your reading enjoyment. I've never written Dumbles (other than in a drabble) before, so I hope he's eccentric enough. :D

Title is from "Sleeping Lessons," by The Shins.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

As Sure as You Have Eyes

"It wouldn't be fair to her. If, you know, history was to repeat itself like it so often does. She's so young, she has so much going for her—"

"And yet, she chooses to lay it on the line for something, and someone she believes in. The question has never been what one has to live for, but what one is willing to give up his or her life for. That is the root of faith, of love." He leaned an elbow against the desk, gesturing broadly. "Of war. Each is a branch, all connected at the root."

"You're saying love and war are the same thing."

"Not exactly. Love is how we judge war and justify it. In the same respect, war feeds the flame of love. Both are inevitable, inescapable. I'm far too old to believe in a utopia, Remus."

"So, is it a never ending circle or a precarious balance?"

"Neither." Dumbledore smiled, after a long pause. "And both. Love is just another form of magic. The force that draws people together is one of the strongest, one that cannot be truly mimicked by a potion or a spell. Complex and simple, fragile and unbreakable. Wizarding kind, not to mention the rest of humanity, knows nothing of the illimitable power of love."

"Love can't cure illness, or stop a war—"

_Yes it can…just not for me… _

"Ah, but it can, and you've seen it happen. It's love that makes this life bearable."

"I know. I'm just not sure—I'm not sure I can be counted on."

"You don't think you can be counted on? You don't think you're needed? Remus, you took up a teaching job that many people believe is cursed. You never truly gave up on Sirius, after all those years, and despite losing so many friends in the First War, you rejoined the Order the moment I asked. This world is an unfair place for you, yet you keep coming back. The only person I know with that is more dependable and more stubborn than you is Nymphadora. You see," he paused, glancing at the black stone ring on his non-injured hand. "Being an Auror, she deals with the most foul of beings, dark wizards and witches, creatures whose only intent is to inflict evil upon others. It is a difficult career, not one I would choose to take on myself, and I believe that our Nymphadora is quickly becoming disenchanted with her situation."

"She said that the Ministry has been sending innocent people to Azkaban."

"That isn't all that has been troubling her, I'm afraid. Many times, we don't realize how significant we truly are in the lives of our significant others. Auror Tonks sees people with problems like yours, and how they allow it to control them, to drag them downward, but you work through it."

A lidded, golden bowl on the desk bounced and rattled toward the edge. The headmaster looked down his crooked nose at it, and pushed it back to the middle of the desk, amid the other shining, whirring instruments.

"When I interviewed her after she joined our Order, I asked Tonks who she preferred to be paired with for missions and she said you, not because she liked your sense of humour, or because she thought you were handsome—"

He ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment, ears turning red.

_Someone put me out of my misery…_

"She told me that she wanted to work with you because, and I quote, "He's trustworthy, gives people the chance they deserve, and he's not ashamed of who he is." Nymphadora saw in you all the qualities that Aurors, not to mention Hufflepuffs, want to preserve in these dark times—"

"And I've let her down."

* * *

The latest Order meeting had been unusually efficient, ending just after Tonks and Kingsley gave their report on the anti-werewolf riots that had raged during the previous week. Her voice had quivered slightly as she recalled the details of the young man's death; he could tell she was relieved when it was over.

"Heard you met up with Bellatrix last Thursday." Arthur stacked his notes up, looking worried. "Is that right, Remus? Moody said there was a fight—"

"It was Tonks who fought her—I didn't."

"He scared her off!" The girl turned to Mrs. Weasley, waving her mug of tea. "That bit—I mean, Bellatrix didn't even try to fight him, she just left."

"Is that so, Tonks? You fought Lestrange?"

"Yeah, sure did—"

"And lived to tell the tale," Molly interjected, in another failed attempt to turn the conversation to cheerier topics.

"Then Remus shows up and chases her away with one Protego." Tonks looked him in the eye for the first time that day. "She said she remembered you."

"Of course Lestrange remembers him." Moody growled. "After Marlene was killed, Lupin and Black took it upon themselves to avenge her and nearly ended up going the same way."

He remembered it as well—he had seen Sirius carry Marlene's lifeless body out of the heap of rubble that was once her home, shortly after his own parents' deaths. She was white as chalk, her clothing charred with spellfire. Sirius had been close to her, though Remus hadn't known nor dared to ask if it had been anything more than friendship, and he had been the stoic one, alerting the rest of the Order members that the entire McKinnon family had been murdered. The next mission led them straight to Bellatrix and her minions, and every one of them had brushed shoulders with the grave that night. Remus would have never believed the story about the violent death of Peter Pettigrew had he not seen Padfoot take half of a house down with a single spell. It seemed every ounce of suppressed rage against his family that he had bottled up for so many years escaped all at once.

"She was just a girl." James had whispered sorrowfully at Marlene's funeral, his arm wrapped protectively around Lily, who was quietly crying into Harry's blanket. Remus sat numbly between the brothers Prewett, looking pointedly away from the two fresh mounds of gravedirt a few rows to their left. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

"James, don't you ever say that—" Sirius snapped, pushing back the long strands of black hair that fell into his face. "Jamie, I had to pry her wand from—from her hand when I found her. She died _fighting_. Don't you _ever_ say she was just a girl."

The words of another girl cut into his thoughts, her voice sharp. "So you and Sirius had fought her before, then? To get back at them for killing McKinnon and her family?" Tonks pulled herself onto the kitchen counter, sitting on the edge.

"We did. Actually," He stared into his tea for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I was fighting Bellatrix, Sirius was after Rodolphus. It was the middle of the night—we couldn't see anything, so it wasn't much of a duel. I was terrified that I would hit the wrong person, but I could hear her laughing, so I had to aim for her voice." Remus paused, a frown creasing his forehead. He got a chill much colder than the air that seeped under the kitchen door. "Then I saw her—Sirius had somehow caused this huge explosion and I saw her, back in a corner. Could've taken her out, had the opportunity, but I let her get away. I think sometimes, that had I been brave enough…"

_Maybe some of my friends would be around today…_

"A week later, the Prewetts were gone, too." His eyes darted towards the Weasleys and they smiled sadly. "After we lost them, everything started falling apart... "

"And the Potters, and the Longbottoms." Moody added somberly. "Then Sirius, and Emmeline…Merlin only knows who'll be next, but it was nearly the two of you."

_Thanks for the reminder, Mad-Eye…like I didn't know that._

The sound of breaking glass made them all jump and Tonks muttered an apology, repairing the cup she had dropped.

"Now, now." Molly piped up, and he realized he wasn't the only one to see Nymphadora's fingers trembling as she pocketed her wand. "There's no reason to talk like that."

Remus lingered in the kitchen as the rest of the Order members retreated to the comfort of the sitting room, and Tonks did the same, hovering near the stove with her mug in hand. He hadn't spoken to her since he had left her flat, the evening after their skirmish with the Death Eaters.

"I'm sorry about…you know. Last week." She took a step towards him, a fleeting look of indecision passing over her face before she sat down at the table.

He sat down across from her. "No, it's okay."

"I didn't mean to freak out at you."

"It's fine, Dora."

"I—I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For stepping in. I wouldn't have lasted much longer fighting her. That was a very brave and ridiculously stupid thing you did."

He smiled. "I know. Moody's told me four time now."

"I don't know how you got her to leave, but I'm glad you did. I'm just glad she did leave, that you didn't have to fight her off."

"What else could I have done, Dora, to keep you safe—"

She arched an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms across her chest.

_Uh-oh._

"_Safe_, Remus? I don't need you to keep me safe."

"And I can't guarantee that I'd be able to—"

"I don't need you to guarantee anything. I just need to be with someone that actually cares, you know. It's not that big of a deal, I just need you around, okay? That's all I want from you, it's not like we have to get married or anything—"

"But what if that's what I want—" The words slipped out; it was impossible to pretend like he hadn't said it. She stared at him, her lips parted in a stunned silence. Tea spilled on the table as the half-empty cup slipped from her hand for the second time. "And what if I lose you—"

"And what if you _don't_ lose me?"

_She makes a good point… _

"I—I don't know." Remus pushed his hair back from his eyes. "I don't know."

"Then for god's sake, do something before the opportunity passes you by."

"Dora, you _know_ it's impossible."

_Well, only mostly impossible, but very unadvisable…_

"I would've thought a man like you would know better than to use that word around me."

"But—you understand the risk you'd be taking, Nymphadora? They would _kill_ us, probably in the most painful way…to make an example of us, and I don't want that to happen to you—"

"I'll take any risk I want, Remus Lupin, and you know they'd kill us anyway—"

The door to the kitchen creaked open and Molly snuck in, carrying a tray of leftover biscuits. "Don't mind me." She cast a reprimanding, motherly look at him—for a moment he thought of Lily Potter and the way she had raised an eyebrow at him every time she caught Sirius copying his homework. "Just passing through."

_Oh, for Merlin's sake._

Tonks Vanished the tea mess from the tabletop and Molly slipped out as fast as she could, the slamming door punctuating their silence.

"Muffliato." She cast the spell, then stared at him, tilting her head in question. He stared back at her, his jaw set, and with every second that ticked by he grew more furious with himself. He knew she would break him eventually, that he would be the first to speak. Her smoked-glass colored eyes drifted to the clock, and then back to him. She smirked.

_Moody trained her to interrogate criminals, Remus. You're hopeless…_

"This is absurd—"

"_You_ are absurd." Tonks laughed mockingly, until she saw the look on his face and started giggling outright. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I love you, dammit." He buried his face in his hands, unable to look her in the eye. "That's what's _wrong_ with me."

"You what?"

"You heard me."

"Then why don't you do something about it?"

"I—it's complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it."

"'Uncomplicate" isn't a word."

"Well, then, discomplicate it."

"That's not a word either, Nymphadora."

"Quit changing the subject!" She frowned. "I'm trying to sort you out—you kissed me, while we were out there chasing Death Eaters, like you _meant it_. And you haven't done that in a looong time. And _then_ you take me to my flat and leave me in my living room without so much as a fare-thee-well—"

"You were falling asleep on your feet and wanted to be taken home—"

"For the record, when I ask you to take me home, I want to be taken home and shagged, but that's beside the point." A thin, pointy finger jabbed the air in his direction. "Then, I don't see you until the next week. And then—" She tucked her wand behind her ear, probably to keep from hexing him, he thought. "_And_ _then_ you tell me, in a roundabout fashion, that you still love me and kind-of-sort-of want me back but won't—"

"_Can't_." He cleared his throat. "And _for the record_, you were emotionally unstable at the time, not that I didn't want to—"

"I'm emotionally unstable all the time!" She pounded both fists on the tabletop, looking torn between swearing and laughing, and proving her own point.

"Thanks to me, and don't you think I have enough on my conscience already?"

"It's your conscience to deal with, not mine." Tonks shrugged, shaking her hair back from her face. "But you can't tell me that you want to get ma—that you want something that I can give you, and then just act like—"

"But it would be different…worse, if we were—"

Neither of them could bring themselves to say the word, almost as if it were an Unforgivable curse. He stared out the window, watching the trees in the orchard sway in the wind.

"How different would it be? Bellatrix knows what we are—what we were, anyway." She straightened up in her chair. "Remus, we're fighting for the same side. We're together in this whether we like it or not, and if you have the slightest hope that we _could_, tell me."

"I don't know, Dora." He sighed, tempted to reach over and take her hand. She drummed her fingers against the tabletop impatiently. "Honestly. I have no idea what I should do."

"I have a few ideas," she laughed bitterly, "But you probably wouldn't like them."

* * *

"I've let her down, and she thinks I'm a coward—"

"On the contrary—she is very aware of the noble attitude from which your actions stem."

"—Or she thinks I'm a stubborn old git."

"You've been a stubborn old git since you were eleven, Remus." Dumbledore raised a silvery eyebrow. "Some things cannot be helped."

"There's just nothing I can do for her right now—and I'm afraid that by the time this is all over, if it goes the way we hope, she won't lov—she'll have grown tired of my stubbornness." He toyed with the parchment before him, tearing the corner. "And what if it doesn't go the way we hope, and she ends up hurt…or worse, because of me?"

"It's no crime to be afraid to see a friend hurt. But we have to ask ourselves, would we ever let anyone hurt them? Would you, Remus, ever _allow_ it to happen, if you could prevent it?"

When he spoke, he was shocked by the conviction in his voice. "Never. I would die first."

"Then you've known the solution to your problem from the beginning." The old man smiled broadly, taking the bowl with the rattling lid and pushing it towards Remus. "Chocolate frog?"

* * *

Reviews?:D


	28. The Temperature Change

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own these characters--if I did, I'd probably meet my deadlines.

_Author's Note:_ Well, we're nearing the end, or the beginning, as it were. After much deliberation, I've realized that trying to continue this WIP through to the bitter end would not be my best move, since my amount of free time to donate toward it has become exponentially smaller.

BUT that doesn't mean we have to be sad—I'm just going to end this on a high note, for their sakes, at the end of HPB. This chapter is NOT the end, but it does end in a cliffhanger, so don't be angry! :D

Also: I C U thar, Madurai! XD

Title is from the oddly suiting MGMT song "Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters."

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

The Temperature Change

It was a hot and lazy afternoon in the kitchen of the Burrow—Snape was giving a monotonous lecture on the uses of Polyjuice Potion and the rest of the Order members were listening numbly. Thunderclouds were building on the horizon, bringing the damp scent of distant rain through the open window.

"—And almost as effective, if not superior to, the skills of some Metamorphmagi, wouldn't you say, Nymphadora?"

_Bad idea, Snape. Bad, bad idea…_

"Oh, sod _off_," she snapped. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Molly surreptitiously seize the girl's arm as her hand darted for her wand. Snape glowered at her and concluded his speech, leaving as soon as Moody declared the meeting officially over. Tonks had been visibly annoyed since arriving for the meeting, and sat with her chin in her hands; staring out the window until most of the Order had filtered out of the kitchen. Casting a quick glance towards the sitting room, she pushed back her chair and motioned for him to follow her as she opened the door. Tonks was already at the garden gate when he jogged up beside her, falling into step down the dirt path into the trees. She was silent, and he remained quiet as well, until the tense set of her jaw relaxed and the fast pace of their walk slowed.

"Arthur said the Wizengamot dismissed the case about the werewolf. You had to testify?"

Nymphadora nodded, her voice dark with ire when she finally spoke. "Yeah, but they didn't write down a single word I said, because Umbridge was there. She said I was biased towards "non-humans" because I am one, and that my testimony shouldn't count. And of course, it didn't."

"And Kinglsey—"

"Was coincidentally assigned a three-day patrol on the coast. No witnesses, no trial."

"Of course."

A bird chirped in the tree above their heads, flapping its wings against the thick air, and another added its voice from across the meadow.

"I'm thinking about quitting," Tonks said quietly, her dark hair falling over one eye as she shot him a look over her shoulder. The splashes of light between shadows of fluttering leaves played across her cheek and shoulders.

He nodded, loosening the collar of his shirt against the afternoon heat.

"You—you don't think I'm being stupid?"

_No, out of the two of us only one is stupid, and you're with him..._

"Well, I have to admit, I'm…a bit stunned that you would quit after working so hard to get the position."

"It isn't the same as it was when I started."

"That's true."

"The force isn't doing anything the Order couldn't do ten times better and…and King handles this double agent business better than I do. It's getting harder to keep secrets from them, I'm keeping secrets from everyone now."

"I know how that one goes."

"I thought you probably would," Tonks said, glancing back at him. Her toe caught a knot of grass as they stepped up an embankment and she stumbled, her boots sliding down the crumbling dirt. He caught her arm as she slipped, feeling her skin break out in goosebumps under his fingers. A hot flush spread across her cheekbones, but she didn't pull away from him like he had envisioned. Tonks wasn't embarrassed about falling—it was something she did far too often to be blushing over. Without slowing her pace, she took a folded sheet of parchment from the back pocket of her jeans. "This won't be in the news until tomorrow, and they don't go into effect for another month but…"

The purple paper had been copied from a Ministry file, and he instantly recognized the neat, calligraphic handwriting of Percy Weasley. Remus took it, feeling the familiar weight of dread settle in his stomach.

"What's this?"

"Let's put it this way," she said with a grimace. "You haven't won the lottery."

* * *

Another set of anti-werewolf restrictions had been put into law during his seventh year of school, just after Greyback had openly sided with Voldemort. A renewed phobia of lycanthropy had settled over the Wizarding community; werewolves were despised along with Muggleborns, though with more definable, and less superstitious and arbitrary reasoning behind the hate. He was in the midst of writing an essay for Potions when James and Sirius stormed into the common room, the former with a copy of The Daily Prophet tucked under his arm. Remus looked up from his book, eyeing the paper. "Don't bother. I've already read it."

"You've already—"

"Yes, I've read it."

"But Moony—" Sirius started, grabbing the paper from James and indignantly waving it in the air.

"We can't talk about it right here, not right now. It can wait until later."

"But Moony—" James frowned, crossing his arms.

"Honestly, I don't want to talk about it right now. You've got a match in fifteen minutes. You need to be focusing on that…and I need to finish this essay before the game."

He'd left the Quidditch match early and made his way through the silent halls, climbing the stairs of the Astronomy Tower as the sun set. Gryffindor would win, as usual, and the celebrations would last into the night. There would be no talking to James for the next three days without his finding a way to work a play-by-play account into every conversation. The wind at the top of the tower was strong--he sat between the notches of the parapet with a leg on each side of the ledge, and looked down. Everything on the ground was tiny, the line of students from the Quidditch pitch to the school looked like a trail of ants.

"Are you going to jump?" The steady voice of Lily Evans called, pulled by the breeze. "You'd better not; I don't want to be the one to tell Sirius. You owe him money."

He laughed. "How did you know where I was?"

"Followed the trail of sweet wrappers," she said, matter-of-factly. "I read the news, Remus. It would be enough to make me want to jump, too. It's awful; I was so angry I accidentally caught my paper on fire while I was reading it."

"I'm not _suicidal_, Lils. I'm…gaining perspective."

"Well, can't you do that from _this_ side of the ledge?"

Obligingly, and remembering her fear of heights, he slid down from the wall and sat on the floor between the telescopes. Lily crept over, sitting next to him.

"What kind of perspective are you trying for, anyway? A bird's eye view?"

"I'm just thinking." Remus pulled on the frayed end of his shoelace, looking away. Her green eyes were too honest for him; he wondered how James could stand it.

"Thinking about what?"

"What I'm going to do…"

"You mean after school?"

He nodded dismally. Future career choices had been the hot topic since after the Christmas holidays, he had expected it to come up sooner or later, but none of his three friends had mentioned it.

"You could be a writer."

"I'm already a writer. There's no money in it."

"True, but all you've written is a few articles…You could be a professor," she smiled. "You'd be good at it."

"Sirius would make fun of me."

"So would I, but you'd be a great one. I mean, you've taught the guys half of what they know," she elbowed him. "Hey, or you could be a cauldron-bottom inspector. Just think of the jokes."

He rolled his eyes, smiling. "I believe Sirius and Peter have already claimed their positions as bottom inspectors."

"Well, you could always do what I'm doing."

"What's that?"

"Settling down, or haven't you noticed?" She wriggled the fingers of her left and so that her week-old engagement ring caught the light. "Someone has to keep James from blowing himself up, and I doubt you'd want the task as long as you both shall live."

"I thought you wanted to be a teacher, Lily?"

"I would've expected more realism from you, of all people—no one's going to hire me now, Remus. I'm a Mudblood, remember? Until this whole stupid conflict is resolved I'm on the blacklist, so to speak."

He hadn't thought of that, though it made sense enough, so he nodded. "But don't you feel like you're giving up on a dream?"

"Nah." She shook back her long red hair. "I'm just trading one dream for another."

"At least you have some to trade," he said morosely, before he realized the words had slipped out. "For me, settling down is about as much an option as being a bloody cosmonaut."

"But they haven't made a law that says you can't."

_It's no use arguing with a woman...they can find an excuse for_ anything_..._

"They might as well." He snorted. "I mean, I can't keep this secret forever. Eventually someone will find out, and that's it for me."

"Eh, don't sell yourself so short. I have the highest hopes for you, even if you don't." She smiled, squeezing his hand. "Besides, out of everyone here, you and I can rightly believe that anything is possible."

What struck him the most was the certainty in her eyes, and the way it felt so dischordant against the uncertainty around them--it was an odd kind of bravery. He could've dueled anyone, jumped from the tower without a flicker of fear, but he didn't have that kind of confidence; the reassuring voice in his head that insisted that everything would be fine. For him, everything was never fine, though it often masqueraded as such.

* * *

The purple parchment trembled in the breeze as he scanned through the list. He had been expecting action from the Ministry after Greyback's attack on the Montgomery child, and the policies on the page reeked of Dolores Umbridge's handiwork. He hadn't been allowed to vote before; now he was prohibited from leaving the country. The miniscule amount of benefits werewolves received from the Support Office had been reduced by more than half, the use of a Portkey by a lycan was illegal, and their right to a trial had been suspended. At the bottom of the page was the last--the Law for the Protection of Wizarding Blood and Honor, forbidding relationships between werewolves and witches or wizards, and mixed marriages.

_What's next? Are they going to make us wear a little yellow moon-shaped badge on our sleeves?_

"What do you make of that last one? Awful coincidental, I thought."

"It's as unfair and bigoted as the rest." He wadded the paper into a ball and threw it to the side of the path.

"Would it…apply to you?"

"I'm still thinking about it, Nymphadora."

It wasn't a lie—he hadn't properly slept in a week, unable to keep his mind from turning the problem over again and again. His own actions had caused him to be held to a higher standard of responsibility, he felt, than other people might be, and his condition caused him to be more suspected of deviancy and wrong-doing—simply put, he tread a narrow path, caught between a real wolf and a metaphorical wall.

"I've given you as much time to think about it as I can."

_She wasn't giving you time, she was giving you an ultimatum…_

Their walk had taken them further through the trees and into the tall grass of the paddock, the damp smell of soil giving way to the sun-warmed scent of the meadow.

"Well," he said slowly, we can do one of two things."

"And those would be?"

"We could take a bet, of sorts—wait this war out, and see what happens afterwards."

"The downside to that being the more-than-slim chance that either or both of us may meet an untimely demise before the war's over."

_Leave it to Tonks to call it as she sees it…no matter how morbid..._

"Uh…right. Or, we could—"

"Take a dare and do it now, and to hell with what happens, and bollocks to the war?"

He laughed. "Something in that vein, yes."

"I prefer that one, then."

"You said you didn't want to get—I thought you said you didn't want to get _married_."

The word burned against his lips, coming out in a half-whisper--sounding much less like a Gryffindor than he had intended.

_Well, you didn't sound terrified_ at all,_ Moony. Good thing Sirius isn't here, he would've called you a nancy, for sure._

"No, I said I didn't _have_ to get married. There's a difference. It's never been a priority to me, Remus—I'm not one of those girls that spends all day dreaming about a wedding, but if it's an offer you're making, I'm gonna take it."

"And you're certain of what you'll be getting yourself into? You know we'll be—we would be ridiculously poor."

"Everyone's going to be poor, except Death Eaters, if the Gringotts is taken over like Bill said would happen." She kicked at a rock, sending it skittering into the grass. "I've got all my savings at home—we'll get by."

"And you realize that the majority of society would disapprove in ways…well, you saw, and that's only the beginning."

"The majority of society has no say in how I live my life." As they reached the middle of the field, she stopped. "And In case you haven't noticed, Professor Lupin, people tend to disapprove of me anyway."

_But I doubt anyone has refused to sell you groceries just because your hair was a strange color…_

Looking around, she dropped to the grass, crossing her legs and patting the ground next to her. He sat down, slightly unnerved by the way she watched him—it had been easier to walk and talk, without her sad, dark eyes locked on his.

He forced a smile. "I had the feeling they disapproved, but it never seems to bother you."

"Nobody has the right to make me feel second-rate."

This was true, he thought, because typically even the best efforts of Umbridge, Filch, and Snape combined wouldn't be enough to dampen her spirits, but for one exception that he had never noticed before. Any antagonism directed toward her was quickly, almost automatically returned with a sharp word, a swear, or a hex—except his. She didn't reflect the distress he placed upon her, she kept it. If misery was all he could give her, that was what she would take.

"Apparently I do."

"No," her voice hardened. "You have the privilege of making me feel second-rate."

"Clearly, I've abused that privilege."

"A bit, yeah," She sighed and looked away, biting her lip. "Nothing irreparable, though. It's okay."

He stared at the ground between his boots, picking a wildflower from the grass and twirling it in his fingers. Tonks was maddeningly stubborn--he was sick with guilt at the fact that despite all he had put her through, she still took his side.

"It's _okay_? Are you _mad_? I was doing everything in my power to make you hate me, I've been nothing but cruel to you—don't say I wasn't! When--when I think of what I've done to you, and how you must feel—honestly, I feel like the monster most people would like to believe I am, and that's not how I wanted this to be at all. It was for the best—my intentions were for your own good. It was selfish of me, I used you, and then I used a lame excuse to be rid of you just because I thought I couldn't handle anything more than—"

"Meaningless sex?" She supplied, arching an eyebrow. The smile on her face was devious and vaguely accusatory, and the flush of heat he felt across the back of his neck was not the work of the hazy, afternoon sun.

Remus felt he was due the incredulity that had crept into his voice, and he tried not to laugh. "Well, I don't know about you, Nymphadora, but it meant quite a bit to me."

She snickered, grinning. "I miss that."

"What, the meaningless sex?" he asked, innocently.

"I was talking about making you blush, but yes, I miss that too."

"I miss you." His words were almost lost in the sound of thunder--the clouds on the horizon were slowly rolling in, flashing with lightning.

"I know," she whispered, laying her head against his shoulder.

"More than anything, I don't want to hurt you again, but I don't think it's possible." He sighed and wrapped his arm around her, absently threading his fingers through her hair. "We're damned if we do, and damned if we don't. Either way, it's guaranteed to be painful, I can't promise that it won't be..."

"I'd rather not be alone. Pain--pain is no big deal, but I'd--I would rather be together than alone."

Somehow the note of uncertainty in her voice was encouraging, in a strange way it was reassuring to know that she was as fearful about the future as he was.

"I agree," he said, tilting her chin up to kiss the corner of her mouth.

* * *

Reviews? I know I don't deserve them :S


	29. Turn it Off

**Disclaimer!** This is not my story, I'm only borrowing the characters and putting them through hell for fun.

**Author's Note:** This chapter is belated, I know, and I hope it's satisfactory. Also, it's not the last one, thought it's the longest chapter to date.

The title is from My Morning Jacket's song, "Touch Me, I'm Going to Scream, Pt. 2"

_['cause it's been so long since someone challenged me—make me think about the way things are, made me think about the way things could be…]_

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Turn it Off

It was black as ink though it wasn't late; the light from the streetlamps was a dim orange glow on two sides of the park. The trees provided thin coverage; he stalked through the grass behind a row of pines, bending a branch down for a better view and watching a masked, robed figure pace the sidewalk in front of the houses. Another was at the far end of the block, standing in the shadow of an unused phone booth.

An owl hooted immediately above him and took flight; the closest Death Eater spun around, watching the bird swoop soundlessly over the houses. His masked face tracked the trajectory of the owl in reverse, toward the trees. The enemy slowly made his way toward the hideout, and as he reached the halfway point, Remus decided that after a quarter of an hour of watching, it was time to get the hell out. He ducked behind the nearest tree and a flash of light hit the trunk just as he turned to Apparate.

_Damn!_

The spell had thrown him off and he reappeared in the middle of the street, landing in a dead run toward the cover of the buildings. The two Death Eaters' curses were barely missing his heels; flying shards of asphalt stung his back.

"_Confringo! Impedimentia!"_ He cast the spells over his shoulder—the second Death Eater stopped in mid-motion and dropped onto the road. "_Protego—_Oh shi—"

The toe of his boot caught the curb and he tripped onto the sidewalk, his face hit the concrete much like the Weasley twins hit Bludgers. Darkness crowded the edges of his vision, but he scrambled to his feet, diving again as a spell hit the brick wall above him. He darted around the corner, taking cover behind a row of trash bins and only realizing that he had been herded into an alley as the remaining enemy converged on the single exit. The Death Eater raised his wand, laughing darkly and moving forward.

"_Crucio!"_

He deflected the curse, dropping behind the trash bins again but the bins suddenly shot to the other side of the alley and he was without any defenses, his back against the wall. The garden fence at the far end of the alley was too high to jump, and Apparation was out of the question—his head started to ache like someone was setting off firecrackers in his brain.

_Oh, bollocks…_

He knew in an instant that there would be no negotiation, no time to waste fending off torture. Fight or flight had turned into kill or be killed; the thought of it made his heart pound and his palms sweat, and he prayed he was faster than the other fellow. Fear was the driving force—Remus doubted he could have killed out of pure hate, even if it were Greyback, Peter, or Bellatrix standing before him. He pitied them only slightly more than he hated them—it was something he couldn't let go of even as he was trapped by someone who could, and would, kill him without a second thought.

The gloved hand of the Death Eater twitched slightly, his eyes darting towards the road, following a Muggle jogger as he ran past the entrance to the alley. The young man was singing loud and lustily, lost in a pair of headphones.

"_Let her go, let her walk right out on me! __And if the sun comes up tomorrow, let her be…"_

The singing stopped abruptly and the jogger backed up, looking down the alley at them both and pulling his headphones off. He opened his mouth to speak, and the Death Eater laughed again—he turned toward the Muggle and would make an example of the poor lad, if Remus did nothing.

Which, of course, was against his personal policy towards Death Eaters. He lurched towards the masked man, grabbing him in a chokehold and jabbing his wand against his throat.

"Run, you idiot!" he shouted at the Muggle, who fumbled backwards and took off at a sprint. An unimpressed chuckle sounded from under the mask and he tightened his hold on the enemy's neck. Frightened though he was, he wasn't afraid of being killed, but of dying alone in that alley without a hand to hold. Being killed in battle was war, dying alone in the alley was a tragedy. Who would tell the rest of the Order? Which one of them would have the stones to tell Nymphadora? He couldn't die, she would find a way to resurrect him and then she'd murder him again for dying without her express permission, he was certain of it. His mind was racing in Worst-Case Scenario Overdrive and he couldn't turn it off.

_Oh, fuck...what now?_

"You wouldn't," the man hissed, struggling. "You Phoenix lot don't have the nerve."

_If you let go, he'll kill you..._

"Avada Kedavra."

A long, silent moment passed before the Death Eater slumped to the ground and Remus sighed, shaking. Two spells later the Death Eater was gone, reduced to ash and Vanished. He doubted Voldemort would have any qualms against recycling one of their own henchmen, and he didn't really want to meet up with this fellow for a second, more decomposed round.

"Dammit."

He ran a hand over his face, finally appreciating the seriousness of the scraped, oozing gash across his cheek and the bruise beneath it. Dizzily, still shocked and quite aware of how much help he needed to recover properly from meeting the sidewalk head-first, he stumbled across the main road and into the park. It took all of his strength to focus his mind, and thinking of a door on the other side of the city, he turned slowly and disappeared.

* * *

The very door he had pictured materialized before him, the sound of his arrival muffled by techno being played at top volume in a flat down the hall. He knocked, gritting his teeth against an imminent collapse onto the shabby carpet of the corridor, and the door flew open. A shadow stomped out, in a rage.

"For the last effing time, I didn't order a pizza—oh."

Feeling rather unsteady, Remus leaned against the corridor wall, trying to focus on one of the three of her moving back and forth in front of him. "Hello, Nymphadora."

She rubbed her eyes and stared at him, her head tilted slightly to one side, squinting as the heavy drone of electronic music rattled the door across the hall. After a moment she frowned and reached up, pulling his hand from his face.

"What the bloody _hell_ have you been doing?"

"…Dueling?"

"With what?" she asked, her dark eyes wide. "A brick wall?"

_Unfortunately, no…_

"With Death Eaters. McGonagall had me check Grimmauld and there were a few hanging around."

"You'd think those idiots would have realized that cesspool was under the Fidelius by now."

Tonks yawned, watching him with a scrutinizing look.

"I don't think they expect us to still employ that spell, after what happened last time."

She frowned again. "Why didn't you ask me to go with you?"

"I thought you were in Hogsmeade."

"Then why'd you come _here_?"

He shook his head, wincing at the combination of the motion, her barrage of questions, and the blasted music being played in the next flat. "Really, I've no idea."

She nodded as if this made perfect sense—which it didn't, though nothing did when he was seeing double. "Well, it's a good thing I was sleeping at home tonight."

"I'm, erm—sorry about waking you. I, um…I can't see to fix my face, can I borrow your—"

"Don't be ridiculous. I can heal it for you."

Tonks was all business as she took his arm and pulled him inside, herding him into the kitchen. She took a towel from a drawer and pushed herself up onto the counter, pulling him closer by a shirtsleeve and cleaning the smudges of dirt and blood from his face. "How did this happen? It's not from a hex—"

"I fell and hit my head on the sidewalk."

"Well, that would surely do it," she said, biting her lip as she healed the gash, then Summoned a jar from across the room. "This feels odd. Usually it's the other way around, and I'm the one that's injured."

He laughed awkwardly and she smiled faintly in return, dabbing Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Bruise Remover on his face. He knew for a fact that she had a carton of it, after Fred and George had detailed to him how she fell down the stairs in their shop a few weeks ago while smoking a cigarette, and wiped out an entire display of fireworks. Apparently the stuff worked on burns, as well.

"How many were there?" She asked, wiping her fingers on her shirt.

"Just two. One got away, the other's dead."

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second—the first time he had truly looked at her in months. She nodded in understanding, but something was missing from her eyes—the youthful innocence she had stopped even assuming, and he knew the blame was on him.

"Who was it?"

"I didn't think to check."

"Eh, doesn't matter who it was. That's just one less for us to deal with." She tilted his face up toward the light. "How are you feeling?"

_Insane, as usual… _

"Better, thanks."

"Do you want some tea or something?" the girl asked, slipping down from her perch on the counter. With a flick of her wand she charmed the kettle to heat and opened a cupboard, then stood on her toes, reaching for a box on the top shelf. The hem of her faded black shirt crept up, baring the back of her long, pale thighs and a pair of polka-dotted knickers.

_She does this on purpose, you know…it's all part of her evil plan…_

"Erm…sure," he choked, running a hand through his hair. She pushed him out of the way with her hip, taking a pair of mugs out of another cupboard. He took a stumbling sideways step, leaning against the kitchen sink, and stared at a scratch on the floor until she scooted a mug toward him across the faded blue Formica. He had no idea what to say to her—the last time he had seen her was at a meeting, but they had had no time to talk between Moody's various harangues. The last legitimate amount of time they had spent together had been in the Weasleys' orchard, which had ended after an awkward kiss, and neither of them had had the nerve to do what they truly wanted.

Now she was half-dressed, stirring sugar into a chipped teal cup, and per her usual state, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him. Stepping around him, she opened the refrigerator and leaned in.

_Evil plan, evil plan..._

He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

_Oh, this night just keeps getting weirder and weirder…_

"How've—how've you been, since I saw you last? Aside from battling Death Eaters?"

"I've been—alright."

"Good. That's good."

Standing up, she swished the contents of a mostly-empty milk carton, and eyeing the expiration date dispassionately, she poured some into her tea.

"How are you?"

"Mmm," she murmured with the cup against her lips, looking up at him and arching an eyebrow under a wild tangle of slept-on brown hair.

_God only knows what that could mean, Nymphadora—you're going to have to be more specific…_

"How are things at work?"

There was a twitch of her shoulders and she rolled her eyes, looking vexed. "They picked Jules up on a false charge last Wednesday night. Said he was harassing Muggles or something equally rubbish. It was Ms. Torquemada's idea, you know. God, I'd like to just strangle her with that awful little fucking hairbow."

"That's…"

_Fodder for nightmares…_

He shrugged, unable to think of a suitable response and attempting to shake the rather vivid mental picture from his head. The girl looked too tired to even feel angry, as if the only energy she could muster was a sullen sort of exasperation.

"Yeah, I know… and there was nothing I could do. My opinion counts for nil in the office now. I feel awful about it, y'know? Being so…well, you know," she said with a trembling sort of smile.

"I know. I'm sorry," he began, turning the mug around in his hands. "We're just lucky we haven't been arrested yet, as well."

The sigh that escaped her lips was one of the more dangerous sounds he had heard in a lifetime of studying dangerous things.

_Oh, no...I've done it now..._

"I'm just so bloody sick of this war!"

"I know it's difficult, Dora—" he stopped as she looked up, realizing that it would have been better to keep silent than to try and commiserate—why would she want empathy from someone who had spent the better part of a year taking her life apart piece by piece?

"Difficult, eh? Oh, nothing can be as difficult as _you_, Remus," she snapped, looking quite deadly."Which is odd, because if my memory serves, you're rather _easy_."

"Is that so, Missus I've-Shagged-Every-Drugged-Out-Drummer-in-the-Greater-London-Area?"

_Oh god, I did not just say that…_

"Oi! That's not true." Tonks narrowed her eyes at him. The situation would have been—should have been funny, and he tried not to laugh as she glared at him over her tea, muttering. "Jealous bastard."

"…Poseur."

He hadn't meant to say it, but the insult had come out and he couldn't take it back. Her hair went violently red and her voice dropped to a frequency that only dogs and jealous bastards could hear. The lights flickered, and the window glass rattled.

_Okay, so maybe I_ was _supposed to die tonight..._

"_Philanderer_!"

"Klutz!" He clapped a hand over his mouth, appalled at his own behavior. She shouted, quite loudly, that he was a tosser, to which he quickly and unintentionally retorted that she was a tease.

"A _tease_?" Tonks pointed a lethal finger in his direction, looking daggers and an army of mad canaries at him. "Well, you're a hypocrite! A _hypocrite!_"

"Am not! I was only ever trying to look out for you—"

"You are so! And you wanted it just as bad as I did, don't you try and lie about it!"

"Well, fuck, Nymphadora—"

"Yes, why don't you?" she said scathingly, slamming her mug on the counter. "Or should I wait a few more months for you to decide whether it's in my best interest or not?"

"Oh, no, you don't—you—" he fumbled for a term that would best describe how raving mad she drove him. She was infuriating, standing there without any trousers on, with her arms crossed against her chest and acting as if she had never let him take advantage of her passionate, zealous kind of attachment to him. Any argument they could have had he would lose by default—no amount of logic or cleverness could negate the fact that he wanted her now more than ever.

"Spit it out, Lupin, we haven't got all bleedin' night!"

"You…you _girl._"

Tonks gasped and stared at him, wide-eyed, then broke into peals of riotous laughter.

"Glad you finally sorted that one out, Remus, it took you long enough!"

"Marry me."

"Okay!" She said, still giggling, and then dropped her wand. It shot hot pink sparks as it hit the floor, burning holes through the yellow curtains over the sink. Her eyes were completely round underneath her hair. "_What_?"

"Oh, Merlin…"

"Do you mean it? 'Cause if you're messing me around, I swear I'll—"

He looked up at her, meeting her confused gaze with a half-smile, and then stared at the kitchen floor, completely abandoned by the ability to speak.

She crossed the kitchen in one step, seized him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him violently—it was neither naïve nor hesitant like the last few times they had attempted it. She tangled her fingers through his hair, whimpering as he pulled her close and ran his hands over her curves. It was an impatient, demanding kiss, and he yielded to the force of her lips against his, stumbling backward against the refrigerator and taking her with him.

"Of course you don't mean it, you prat," she said abruptly, pushing away from him."You've got a head injury, you've gone round the bend!"

"Dora, no, I...I-I-I want to mean it, but—but I can't even get you a ring, and it—we wouldn't—it would just be a piece of paper, no one else will even recognize it as legal—"

"Legal, smeagol! I don't need a ring."

"Yes, you _do_."

"Well, then find one. Make one. Steal one from a friggin' hobbit, if that's what you want!"

Laughing madly, he pressed his palms against his eyes. "Bloody _hell_…what if we're making a huge mistake? What if it's wrong—what if—"

"What if we're not wrong? How will we know if we don't try—" She slipped her arms around his neck again but he caught her wrists, leaning his forehead against hers.

"We'd have to live with that mistake—it's _forever_, Nymphadora—"

She blinked. "I realize that."

"However long or short that may be—"

"I _know_," she said vehemently, almost hysterically. Her voice cracked with either laughter or tears and he wasn't sure which. "Believe me, I know."

"Are you sure this is what you really want?" He stepped backwards, hands up in question—wondering if she had ever noticed the patches on his trousers and the gray in his hair, the dark circles under his eyes and he was sure that she'd never seen any of the scars, though she had touched every one of them. Either the way the girl's mind worked was unfathomable, or she truly didn't care.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded.

"Honestly, _forever_?"

"And after that, if it comes down to it."

* * *

When she finally fell asleep, she slept like the dead. He didn't dare do the same—he was convinced he had a concussion, but truthfully, he couldn't have slept if he'd tried. She dozed comfortably with her head on his chest as he ran his fingers through strands of her hair, fighting the impulse to wake her and show her just how much she meant to him.

He had tried that route an hour earlier, though every time their eyes met she would fall into a fit of blushing, embarrassed, incredulous laughter.

"I can't _believe_ you."

"I know." He grabbed a pillow from the floor near the sofa where she'd thrown them earlier, and stuck it behind him, then pulled her into his arms. "I agree with you, Nymphadora. I'm ridiculous."

"And I'm still angry at you for calling me a tease."

"I know," he said, and smiled.

"At least you didn't call me _Medusa."_ She yawned and snuggled against him.

Before he left, he made a cup of tea and a plate of toast, charming it to stay warm until she woke up later, then kissed her cheek, and left. The party down the hall had only just ended as he made his way through a crowd of costumed, stumbling drunks and into the stairwell, to Apparate back to the still-dark street he had left.

_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

Spelling the door open, he stepped carefully into the entryway of Twelve Grimmauld Place, moving as quickly as he could without setting off the portraits. It was as empty as the day they had left, Kreacher was nowhere to be seen. He checked the magical wards quickly—none of them had been breached, it was still Unplottable, and just as safe as it had always been from the outside world, though 'safe' was a term he used loosely.

_I can't believe I'm doing this…_

He checked all of the downstairs rooms for signs that anyone other than Dung and Kreacher had been there, and walking past the staircase he stopped, and looked up towards the second story.

He took the stairs up two flights into Sirius' room, making his way across the shambolic mess into the closet. Sinking to the floor, he pried a loose board up with his fingers. The grey layer of dust that had formed in their absence drifted like snow. Remus pulled a drawstring bag from the gap between the floor joists and it plunked down near his feet, it the unfamiliar clink of metal on metal. This was what Sirius had left him, though none of it was mentioned in his will, and for good reason—the gold in the bag was what Padfoot had pilfered from his family, stealing from their funds in an effort to provide for himself when he left at seventeen. He had never needed it, receiving his uncle's sizeable fortune while still in Hogwarts, and had given the stash of stolen money to Remus in the event that he "was in need of several hundred Galleons worth of emergency chocolate funds" the day they had moved into Grimmauld. Sirius shown him where it was in the closet and neither of them had given it another thought.

The irony of the Blacks' filthy money being used to further the plans of a werewolf to marry one of their own was something that Sirius would have appreciated greatly, and Remus would have rather avoided—he could only imagine what would happen if the other side found out about this.

He combed through the dust, checking for loose Galleons that might have slipped from the bag. There among the cobwebs was small, flat metal box, dull with tarnish and age. He plucked it from the grime and dusted it against his trousers until the metal started to heat against his hand, burning so hot that he dropped it, wincing.

The hinge sprang open as it hit the wooden floor and something rolled out, landing against the toe of his boot. It was a ring; small, round, and set with a single stone.

"Bloody _hell_." He felt his heart stop in utter shock as he looked down. It glowed in the wandlight as he picked it up and looked, for the first time, at the one of the few secrets his friend had kept from him. He didn't know who it was for, or if it was merely another piece of stolen property, and now there was no way to ask. They had all been keeping too many secrets at the time. He regretted it more than he had originally understood, even though it wasn't his fault that in the end his friends had ceased to confide in him, and each other.

Suprisingly, the ring didn't brand his fingertips, though the band was tarnished as badly as the box--he could barely see the scrolling design etched around it, and there was dust caught in the setting of what might be a diamond; it would have looked like trash to anyone else.

_And I thought this night couldn't get any weirder…_

She deserved a brand-new ring, something that hadn't sat alone and in the dark for the past fifteen years, but he could imagine the way she would laugh when he told her the story, and he did the same, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, laughing until he thought he would cry.

The girl had given him an ultimatum, the government had given him a deadline, and Fate had given him the means to accomplish it, but he still wasn't quite sure he could do it, as much as he wanted to. It was all up to him now, there wasn't a spell he could use, or a book he could read that would help.

Climbing to his feet, he chuckled in a surprised, amused way, and dropped the ring in his pocket.

"Sirius? You were right, we _do_ live in a fucked-up fairy tale."

* * *

Review?


	30. Made Out of Bricks

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, folks. If you haven't figured that one out yet, I'm afraid I can't help you. :D

Author's Note: This is a chapter I've been dreading, because I know what happens next. But I also know what happens after that, so it's not all bad. Things are looking up for our hero! (And then back down, but then up again. Like a rollercoaster.)

The title is from _Maggie's Farm,_ by Rage Against the Machine.

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Made Out of Bricks

Remus opened his eyes, groggily staring at the cold, damp cellar wall, wondering why his face was sticky and what smelled like a wet dog in a butcher's shop. He sat up, wiped a hand across his cheek and looked at his fingers.

"…That's not good."

It wasn't the first time he had awakened face-down in a puddle of blood, and he didn't know whether to feel reassured by that fact or not. He bit his lip, trying in vain to focus…he was at home, he recognized the walls...why was he covered in blood?

_Oh, that's right..._

Snape had neglected to leave a bottle of Wolfsbane for him at the pub in Hogsmeade, and last night had been uncommonly bad. All he could remember was the sound of his own screams. He shook his head and looked around--taking inventory of his own limbs was a regular post-full moon activity; all were accounted for, and still attached.

And then he noticed his shoulder.

_Oh. Damn…_

Three gruesome slashes had been ripped from his back, running from the bottom of his right shoulder blade to just below his collarbone and neck, across the original bite wound from Greyback. He had cut himself nearly to the bone; dried blood was crusted to his skin and to the floor. It hurt faintly as he pulled himself to his feet, and he stared down at the mess. It was like a Muggle horror film.

"O_h damn_," he croaked, rubbing his eyes.

He climbed the narrow stairs, slipped down the cold stone on bare feet, then clumsily got back up and climbed them again. Leaning against the wall, he took his wand from the ledge above the door and spelled it open, ignoring the deep, splintered gouges in the wood. The door would have never held without the spells that kept it together.

The house was as empty as it had ever been, though cheerful sunlight streamed in through the windows. He wrapped up in the blanket hanging off the back of a kitchen chair and padded to the bathroom. It had been years since he'd injured himself so badly—he'd become accustomed to the Wolfsbane. He moved to turn on the shower, swearing loudly as he used his right hand to turn the faucet—the motion sent a piercing pain shooting down his arm, from his neck to his fingers.

"Oh, god…"

There was no use screaming, no one could hear him—it's why his parents had chosen the property in the first place.

He sat under the water, watching it swirl pink around his feet and down the drain, and leaned his head against the tile wall. When it got cold he spelled it hot again, aware of the dull but growing pain in his shoulder.

A few hours of blank, sleepy numbness would have been nice; his mind needed the rest to catch up with his body, but he felt as if his someone was searing each of his nerve endings with a lit match.

* * *

Getting out of the shower had proved more difficult than getting in—and getting dressed had been nearly impossible. He had managed, albeit with a fair amount of swearing and falling down, and was now sitting at the kitchen table in trousers. He had one arm in the sleeve of a faded blue, button-down shirt, a towel over his other shoulder, and was drinking cheap vodka from a short glass—contemplating what to do next.

After a half-hour's worth of attempting to heal the wound on his own, he came to the conclusion that the angle was impossible, it hurt too badly to try and move, and he had done nothing but make it worse. These weren't the only problems--he didn't have an owl. Apparition was once again a bad idea, and using the Floo network was out of the question completely.

The one person he would have wanted to have already been there when he woke up was Tonks—the girl would have already have him healed properly and back in bed sleeping off a hefty dose of anything that would knock him out—but she was stuck in Hogsmeade. Nymphadora had done two 24 hour shifts and was working on her third since the day after he had stumbled into her flat in London and asked her, quite plainly, to marry him…after insulting her integrity as a hipster.

_Bad move, Moony…You're lucky she didn't hex you for that…_

Molly Weasley was someone he'd rather not let on to the fact that he'd almost bled to death in his own home; she would have him wrapped from head to toe in bandages and sipping soup through a straw before he could say "I'm fine, thanks."

Her sons, however, were as experienced in tending to injuries as most Healers, so he conjured a Patronus, and sent it on its way, with a message, to Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

Ten minutes and a set of directions later, the eldest of the Weasley siblings was knocking at the door. He met him, holding the bottle in his mostly useless right hand, and his wand in his left.

"Good morning."

Bill nodded towards the bottle, looking skeptical. "Bit early for that, isn't it?"

"A bit late, actually." He waved him into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Bill followed suit. "I should have started yesterday afternoon." He took the towel from his shoulder, grimacing.

"Holy Morgana." The Weasley leaned forward, peering at the injury with a look that was more impressed than disgusted. "Whoa. That's, uh…that's really something you should have someone at St. Mungo's take care of—"

"Umbridge cut funding for the Werewolf Support office. I couldn't get in the hospital if I was having Scrimgeour's baby."

"I can't lie," Bill chuckled, pulling his chair over a bit and prodding his shoulder with a finger. "That child would not be pretty. You know, Charlie had a Welsh Green get cross with him once when he and I went to the Reserve for the hols—that was before he worked there—and it looked about like this. A bit more burnt, though."

"I bet your mother was livid."

"She never found out about it. Be still." Bill cast a spell on his shoulder and it felt like he was being stabbed through with a fireplace poker. "Well, that didn't work. Hurts like hell, then, yes?"

"Or something like that," he managed, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers.

"Alright, I think we're just going to try a modified spell and hope it holds. If it doesn't work, it'll have to close on its own. Unless you want me to just go ahead and cauterize it—"

"Oh, _hell_ no—"

"Didn't think so." He frowned. "This may hurt."

_Merlin's pants, he's going to cut my arm off…_

The spell Bill used sealed the wounds just enough to keep him from bleeding—he felt that if he moved too suddenly, the makeshift healing would give and the gashes would reopen.

Not to mention it felt like the fireplace poker he was being stabbed with had been heated in a forge.

"Well, you weren't lying, " he said, gingerly pulling the shirt on all the way and buttoning it. "Thanks, mate."

"Don't worry about it. Just, ah…remind me not to make you angry. You don't mind if I—" he picked up the bottle, swishing the contents around with a hopeful smile.

"That's what it's there for."

Bill conjured his own glass, pouring an inch or two of vodka in the bottom.

He took a small wooden box from atop a stack of purple parchment on the table and slid it across the table to Bill.

"Since you're here, can I ask another favor? I found that in Grimmauld a few nights ago and was wondering if you could tell me if it's…well, if it's real."

_And for goodness sake, don't tell your mother about it…_

The Weasley took it, opening it up and examining the ring with the scrutiny of someone who knew exactly what they were doing, and the guilelessness of…well…a Weasley. He wondered if Bill would think to suspect him of wanting to keep it.

Remus picked up the papers and straightened them—it was his official notification of changes in the Magical Beast and Being Division, signed and sealed by Dolores Umbridge—then wadded them up and chucked it into the sink.

"Well, it's not a House of Black heirloom, I'm certain—there're no snakes or Slytherin marks on it anywhere, no curses. In fact—" Bill lay the ring on the table and cast a wordless spell on it. "It's Muggle."

"Really?"

"Yeah…an antique." He squinted at the ring, turning it over in his fingers. "And that's a diamond…see, you can tell by the setting—it's got to be at least…a half-carat, maybe more. Needs to be cleaned, though. So, are you going to sell it? You could get quite a bit for it—"

"Well, I—"

"This is a year's worth of groceries, mate. I bet you could get five hundred Gall—" Bill stopped mid-syllable and looked up suspiciously, then grinned. "_Really?"_

"_Really…_what do you mean, _really?"_

"Is this for who I think it's for?"

"That…depends," Remus said, in an attempt at nonchalance.

_This isn't going to work, he's figured it out…darn those Weasleys and their incessant curiosity…_

"You're not a very good liar."

He pushed a hand through his hair, shrugged in a way that was half defeat and half confession, and smiled.

"Ha! I knew it!"

"No, you didn't," he returned, refilling his glass with a spell, and grinning.

"Well," Bill said, admittedly, "We all thought you and Tonks were still having that row—"

"We are." He took a long drink, giving the future Mr Fleur Delacour a meaningful look. "If you get my drift."

"Oh." The ginger nodded contemplatively. "Right. Don't worry, I won't tell Mum."

"Thank you…we just don't want a big deal made of this…in case things don't go the way we want them to."

"Meaning one or both of you buys the farm."

"Exactly."

Bill was quiet for a moment, rolling his glass between his hands. He smiled wryly.

"This love-and-war business kind of blows."

"No kidding."

* * *

"Is Auror Tonks here?" he rapped on the bar as he walked past. The Hog's Head was empty, much like the rest of the village, and the few patrons rattled around the room like beetle eyes in the bottom of an empty box.

Aberforth nodded without looking up, drying a glass. "Upstairs, second door on the left."

A goat bleated from the back garden, he could hear them through the opened back door.

_Well, at least old Aberforth doesn't keep them behind the bar like he used to…_

The stairs were creaky and covered in a shabby carpet, doing nothing to muffle the sound of his steps.

" Hello?" He had barely peeked around the half-open door when she pulled him inside by the collar of his shirt, then slammed the door shut and pushed him against it, kissing him hard and pulling his jacket down from his shoulders.

"Oh! Ow—"

"Sorry!" She stopped, letting go--untangling her fingers from his hair and clothes with an apologetic, somewhat disappointed smile. He caught her by the chin, running his thumb over her lips and sliding a hand down her waist to her hip, pulling her against him.

Neither of them spoke—she stared up at him until he leaned in to kiss her, gently at first until he realized how long it had been since he had felt her lips on his in a real, honest-to-god kiss in almost a year. All of the frantic, awkward times between had lacked the tenderness he was trying for.

She traced her fingers along his jaw and down his neck, holding onto the collar of his shirt and carefully pulling his jacket off and dropping it on the nearest chair. Nymphadora took his hand and pulled him to the bed, sitting him down. She sat down next to him and continued where she had left off.

It was a juvenile thing to do—trying to put a year's worth of apologies into a kiss. He felt he owed her more, but this was what she wanted—to feel loved.

All he wanted was to be forgiven, but she had already done that, and he hadn't appreciated it until now. He broke away from her, breathing hard and pained by more than the after-effects of the full moon.

_It's now or never…you may not get another chance that's this perfect…or another chance at all._

"Dora, I have—I've something to show you—"

She eyed him with unveiled mistrust. "I don't know if you're trying to be funny or not."

He laughed shakily, shrugging, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. "I'm not, I swear…Solemnly."

"Well," she asked, pushing her body even closer to his. "Are you gonna give it to me now, or later?"

"I think—I think it can wait a few more minutes, personally."

She smiled, moving closer and pushing him backwards until he was pinned against the headboard of the bed and she was on top of him, kissing him softly with her fingers on the buttons of his shirt. A faint noise outside made her pull away, and something out the window over her bed caught her attention. He worked his fingers through her hair, trying to pull her down to kiss her again, but she put a finger against his lips, shaking her head.

"Wait—something's not …oh, no…"

A flash lit her face in the twilight and she scrambled off the bed, shoving her wand in her jeans pocket and throwing his jacket to him.

"What's wrong—"

"We've gotta go _now. _There's something wrong the school…"

Frantically, he pulled his jacket on, drawing his wand as she pulled him out the door.

"Nymphadora!" Aberforth roared from the bar as they thundered down the stairs. "The school!"

"I know! I know! I know!" She flew past him, rushing through the pub, dragging Remus behind her.

They stumbled out the back of the Hogs Head together, looking toward the school. A cloud of green was forming into a skull, sickly against the pink tint of the sunset.

"The gates, Dora…we can't get in—"

"Yes," she determinedly. "We can." Tonks grabbed his arm and turned. They disappeared with a crack, instantly reappearing in a dusty, dark room, empty but for tattered furniture and the skeleton of a piano. They were in the Shrieking Shack, he would've known it if he was blind.

_What the bloody hell is going on?_

She let go of his arm, conjuring her own Patronus and sending a calm but urgent message to the Order.

"How did you get past the Anti-Apparition wards?"

"I modified it. It wasn't difficult."

"Why did you—"

"I had a feeling." Tonks took inventory of herself—bent down and retied the lace on one of her boots, then straightened up, looking at him seriously. "Are you sure you want to? You can stay—"

"I'm not staying here—"

"You're hurt—"

"I'll be _fine_—"

"Promise?"

He nodded without hesitation.

They were silent as he led her through the tunnel onto school grounds. Leaning at the angle it took for him to make it under the low dirt and protruding roots caused a tight, stabbing pain in his shoulder. He would have to fight left-handed.

_This is going to hurt…_

The branches of the Whomping Willow snaked past the entrance to the secret passage—she froze it, reaching out of the tunnel and pushing the knot on the trunk. They crept out, wary of anyone that didn't belong on the school grounds--there was no one around.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly, as they stood in the shadow of the tree.

She tightened her knuckles around her wand as he took her other hand and they moved quickly toward the castle. The muffled sounds of a battle sounded from above, with flashes of spellfire glaring through the school windows.

They slipped through the front doors, on the lookout for Death Eaters—no one was guarding the entry, so they ran up the nearest non-moving staircase. He was gasping for breath when they reached the landing—she pushed him into a dark alcove.

"Go _home_," she hissed, shoving him backwards with a hand on his chest. "You'll get yourself killed—"

"I can't."

"Then stay here."

"I won't," he said firmly.

"Then you're an idiot!"

"You knew that already." He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles quickly, smiling. "Cover me, will you?"

"Of course I will, " she whispered, and he knew she meant it.

They dashed down the hall together, turning sharply around a corner into the middle of the fray. Spells flew overhead, ricocheting off the stone walls, and through the glare he saw the teachers dueling alongside some students, trying to fend off and drive out a group of Death Eaters. It was chaos--he couldn't tell who was who between all the dark robes and flashes of curses, and for a moment panic seized him and he froze to the spot.

"Remus!"

He heard her shouting from behind, but the sound of it was drowned out by another voice, one straight out of his nightmares.

"Look who finally decided to show up for the party."

* * *

review, eh? :)


	31. Broken In

Disclaimer: I honestly believe that if these characters were of my own creation, they would come to life and murder me in my sleep. Good thing they aren't.

Author's Note: The final chapter of SItN has arrived AT LAST. Oh, thank god. XD

My sincerest apologies for the delay. Not to make excuses, but (here are some excuses) I got married, moved, and am terribly busy being a responsible grown-up, which is not as fun as I thought it would be (the 'responsible' part, not the 'married' part). ;D This has been 98% finished and lurking on my hard drive since July. Feel free to jab at me with pointy sticks if you want. I deserve it.

Title is from Matchbox20's "Downfall."

_only love can save us now_

* * *

**Step Into the Night**

Broken In

Everything—all of the sounds of the battle around them, and the voice of the girl behind him seemed to have been silenced. The spellfire and fighters on both sides blurred into a dark mural of perpetual motion until all he could see was Greyback, who gave a lethal grin, turned, and was gone.

Remus dashed after him, but with a shout he barely recognized as a warning to stay back, Tonks overtook him and disappeared into the battle.

He followed, automatically deflecting hexes and scanning the dim scene for Harry, illuminated in flashes of spells—he was nowhere to be seen. His classmates were there, Hermione and Luna streaked past him, Ron and Neville were ducking hexes and firing their own, and Lily—no, _Ginny_, was battling a towering Death Eater in the corner. The fact that Harry was missing troubled him deeply, but he didn't have time to think about it, turning round as someone bumped into him. He spun around to see Bill, ready to attack.

"Hell, I'm sorry--watch out!" Bill said, flinging a nasty curse at a masked Death Eater, who clutched his stomach and fell to the floor, groaning. "Nice of you to join us," he said, though shouting, as cordially as if they were sitting down for a game of chess. "Married yet?" The eldest Weasley laughed, ducking a flock of deadly flying daggers and transfiguring them into paper planes.

_God bless those Weasleys and their gallows humor…_

"Not quite," he shot back, firing a series of curses at a Death Eater whirling in the middle of the room.

"Well, you'd better hurry up and —oh, sweet Circe," Bill froze, staring in horror across the corridor. "Is that _Greyback_?"

He turned to look at where the young man stared; Tonks was dueling the werewolf, trying to corner him while simultaneously fending off the wild, erratic spells of the giant blond Death Eater in the corner. She was far superior, but Fenrir was undeterred, and abandoned dueling to rush her; she didn't have time to move. Before either Bill or Remus had time to react, Greyback had her against the wall with one gnarled hand clamped tight around her throat, the other pinning her wand hand against the stone—she kicked furiously against his shins but he didn't move, leaning closer to her. There was a look of terror in her eyes that he had never seen before; her face was white and with her free hand she clawed at him, trying vainly to shove him away, all the while he grinned evilly, muttering threats that Remus couldn't hear.

For the second time since they had arrived, he couldn't move. He could smell the werewolf's rancid breath, hear the rasping growl; the same terror gripped him, the fear of imminent, excruciating pain. He knew the feeling all too well—being paralyzed, cornered like prey…but it wasn't him trapped, it was _her_.

Bill grabbed his arm and they both ran forward, shoving fighters out of their way, hauling Fenrir back by the shoulders. She planted a boot in the middle of his stomach and shoved him away, then fell forwards and Remus caught her as she gasped for breath. Bill and Greyback disappeared into the dark tumult of the battle.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded without meeting his eyes, immediately taking up the fight again as a green flash of light flew between them, missing either by half an inch. Another soared over their heads; he felt the heat of it as it passed. He felt like he was moving in slow-motion, but Tonks was furiously flinging spells at the source of their near-deaths; they were being targeted, no doubt on Bellatrix's suggestion.

And he knew that he should have taken Tonks's suggestion and stayed back. The more he moved, the more his arm hurt; he could barely breathe without collapsing and even more green flashes were flying towards them every second.

Through the dizzy whirl of movement, he saw some of the Death Eaters retreating up the staircase to the Astronomy Tower; he attempted to follow and was thrown back by an invisible force, landing hard on the stone floor. A black cloud of billowing robes blocked his vision for a moment, disappearing up the staircase.

Nymphadora stumbled, her wand slipping in her fingers before she scrambled backwards as one of the Death Eaters cast a spell that destroyed part of the ceiling. She landed next to him on the floor, wincing, and he grabbed her hand, pulling her into his arms as plaster and wood rained down.

A half-dozen people shouted "Protego!" as the ceiling collapsed, casting a glittering shield over those on the floor, and for a split-second afterward it was almost quiet. As they climbed to their feet, there was a thunder of heavy footfalls in the stairwell, and Snape appeared in the corridor as a blur of black with Draco Malfoy at his side, chased by a herd of Death Eaters who seemed more than eager to take up the fight again. From the corner of his eye, he saw as Harry ran through after them, screaming something he couldn't hear. They still tried to fight even as they ran.

The haze thinned as more of the Death Eaters retreated out through the doors of the castle, and as soon as it was still everyone began to shout at once, over the ringing of the battle still in their ears.

"But how did they get in—"

"Why was Harry chasing—"

"And how the hell did Snape get through that barrier?"

"Where is Dumbledore—"

An ear-splitting whistle pierced through the buzz of voices and they all turned to see Ginny, pale as death against her fiery hair. She was standing near two bodies no one had realized were there, in the dark corner near the staircase.

"Please, someone help, it's Bill. He's hurt."

* * *

Voldemort was gone, or dead, or something—Remus still didn't quite understand. Was he gone, obliterated like Peter, blasted to bits in the street? Or like James and Lily, bodies limp and abandoned on the floor while their baby cried? Maybe he was gone like Sirius, exiled to a place worse than death…

While the last of the celebratory fireworks fizzled out in the night sky, he sat in the corner, of their—now his—first floor flat, with an uneaten bar of chocolate in one clenched fist and a dull black automatic handgun in the other. The neighbors across the street still hadn't thrown away their jack-o-lanterns, though it was almost a week past Halloween the pumpkins still sat on the porch, moldering. He could smell it through the open window, along with the heavy, sick smell of burnt cloth.

His clothes were dusted with ash. A few days earlier he had taken Sirius' things out behind the house and burned them in the bin; all of his posters and magazines, every shred of clothing before the Ministry could arrive, destroying all but the SIG-Sauer Black had bought illegally to shoot at tin cans out behind James's house.

The house was as good as gone now, or at least that was what Moody had said. Remus couldn't fathom it, so he didn't even try, and drifted off into a haze of blankness interspersed with bouts of aching remorse.

The Longbottoms had been staying with him since the funeral—they had left him the day before with a warning to not to "do anything rash," and didn't come back. He suspected he had been under suicide watch, and he didn't care. Neither of the Aurors tried to coerce him into talking. No one ordered him on any missions, even though the threat of Death Eaters still lingered despite Voldemort's apparent absence, so he stayed where he sat.

The flat was dark, quiet and shadowed, and he stayed in the darkest corner, still wearing the rumpled suit he had worn to Lily and James's memorial—they had been buried the afternoon after the murder, in a ceremony in Godric's Hollow. Remus had hardly slept since then, fear kept him awake, though exhaustion kept him nodding off, and a kind of survivor's guilt twisted in his stomach. It should have been him—if any of them were to die, it would have been more suiting if it had been him, the one without a real future. After it all, he still had nothing, not even a heroic death to claim.

The emptiness was persistent, though at first there had been nothing but shock—it siphoned every ounce of energy he had to even try and comprehend what had happened, to sort it out. Magic was out of the question. The last attempt he had made was to conjure a rose at the funeral to lay on the grave—Moody had done it for him upon seeing how his hands shook, how he couldn't perform the simplest of spells.

People were still being murdered; not all of Voldemort's followers had gone into hiding, and he, someone who had fought Death Eaters and drove off Dementors and Inferi so many times, couldn't defend himself. For the first time in his life, Remus was almost desperate to slip back into the unknowing mind of the wolf, but the moon wouldn't be full again for weeks. Escaping from the confusion and fear was all he desired—temporarily—until Sirius, James, and Peter jumped out of the broom closet and announced that it was all an elaborate Halloween prank.

A sob caught in his throat; he knew that as surreal and distant as it all felt, it was real, that his friends were in the cold ground, in prison, that he had been betrayed by them all. Everyone who had promised to be there was gone, and would never come back. Tears and regrets were for people that had something left to lose, and he fought both, blinking against the stinging behind his eyes. The deadbolt on the door across the room clicked to the right, the crystal knob turned slowly, squeaking. He raised the gun more steadily than he had imagined he could, thumbing the hammer back, and memories flooded him with a wave of pain that felt like hot ash in open wounds. He shook with rage, compounded and concentrated by helplessness and desperation.

"Who's there?" he called hoarsely, finding his voice—suddenly he was screaming so loud he thought the windows would break. "Just come in and kill me if that's what you want! I'm tired of waiting—"

"Put that down, child." McGonagall swept through the door and strode across the sitting room. "Put it _down_." She was by his side as he set the gun on the floor with trembling fingers, and she reached down to take his arm and pull him to his feet.

The professor looked lost for words, her eyes were red-rimmed, with an expression he had seen too often in the past year; he had never known her to be emotional, and had never seen that look on her face other than when the Prewetts had been killed. Frank and Alice weren't coming back—he knew before she said anything at all.

"I'm so very sorry," she said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. She said nothing more and it was terrifying to be left in silence, without a stern reassurance. 'Sorry' was vague at best, and did not begin to ease the hurt he felt, and the question that was caught in his throat was loosed. Remus stared at the floor, unable to look around him for fear of dredging up more memories, and the fury that had been building inside him was replaced with suffocating guilt. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, shoulders shaking with a long-suppressed sigh.

"Why not me? It should've been me. Why…why it wasn't me?"

* * *

Dumbledore was gone; he hadn't believed it until he saw the body, no matter what Harry said, no matter what Hagrid had claimed. The Headmaster had been a dominant figure in his life—in all of their lives, for so long that they had taken _his_ life for granted. He knew he should have seen it in the resigned, solemn look in the man's eyes that had, as of late, replaced the cheerful twinkle.

Remus had hoped time would make him more callous, but it always struck him harder than he imagined, and the task of shaking off the numbness left by another death seemed as daunting as climbing a mountain. The warm breeze floated through the open entrance to the castle—Professor Flitwick was repairing the damage to the Gryffindor hourglass beside the doors, having recovered from being stunned by Snape. The sounds of sniffs and muffled sobs still filled the corridor; students were lingering in the Great Hall, clinging to each other.

Nymphadora was standing on the entrance steps, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her hair caught on the wind, tangling across her face. She didn't turn to look at him, staring resolvedly out at the lake instead.

"We need to talk."

"Go for it," she said, her voice touched with sarcasm. "I'm all ears."

"Somewhere...private."

"A little late to decide to talk somewhere private, isn't it, Remus?"

Guilt heated his face. Less than an hour ago they had been fighting Death Eaters, now they were fighting each other; it didn't seem right. She looked back toward the calm lake. A cresent-moon thumbnail mark below her right ear was blood-red against her pale skin, four more marked the opposite side of her throat—Greyback had gone after her for a reason, and the reason was him. Now Bill was unconscious in the hospital wing, his face ravaged—this was also his fault. Remus should have been the one to deal with Greyback, and now a whole family was injured because he hadn't taken care of the problem when he had the chance.

He and Tonks had revived Bill, moved him to the hospital together, and then he had followed her to the third floor lavatory—she wanted away from the scene, he knew she hated the sight of blood. She stumbled into one of the stalls and retched, returning as he scrubbed red stains from his hands. She washed her face in water so hot that steam clouded the bottom of the broken mirror over the basin. Every move they made in the room echoed, the sounds bouncing off the tepid, ankle-deep water.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyeing his shoulder in the mirror.

He nodded. "No worse than usual. Are you?"

"I'm fine," she returned, digging through her pockets for a handkerchief to dry her face. He conjured one and handed it to her, trying to ignore how very young she looked, and how very old he felt.

"What did he say to you?

She shook her head, dried her face, and pretended she didn't know what he was on about.

"Greyback, Nymphadora, _what did he_ _say?"_

She turned round to face him fully and drew a shaky breath.

"He said that—he told me what he would do to me if he sees us together again. That he would make you watch and…"

"That he would kill you," he finished for her, numbly.

"No," Tonks said, in harsh voice that reverberated off the tile walls and water, and she finally looked him in the eye. "That you would beg him to."

The girl was holding back, sparing him details that no doubt had been whispered, gruesome and explicit, in her ear. He swore, running a hand through his hair, and he could tell from the look on her face that she knew what he was thinking. The past few days had seemed like a bright spot of light in the bottom of a deep well, and now someone was backfilling it, blocking out the sun with heavy, smothering darkness. His hopes were fragile; Nymphadora didn't understand, or maybe she did; the optimism she had clung to so fiercely since he had asked her to marry him seemed to be buried along with his own.

"I told you this would happen, Dora, and I'm no better than him for bringing you into this—"

He didn't get any farther; she crossed the distance between them in two steps and slapped him hard across the face. He was too shocked to react, and she pulled him down by the collar of his coat until their eyes were level—hers burned with fury.

"You _are_ better, when you admit you are."

The girl let go, turned around and walked away, leaving him to stare, shamed, at his own distorted reflection on the surface of the water.

His cheek still stung as he stood on the steps and watched a few broken clouds scuttle across the moon, but he felt it was justified. Tonks moved back into the circle of torchlight near the entrance, drawing him out of his own head, and he leaned back against the wall of the castle and watched the flickering glow play across her face.

After a few minutes a relenting sigh parted her lips and she glanced over at him, holding out a hand. "Okay. Let's go talk."

Together they crossed the shadowy school grounds to the iron gates, blasted open and hanging awkwardly on the hinges. He took her arm as she stepped beyond the Anti-Apparition wards and she turned slowly. When he opened his eyes they were in London, in a park, behind a row of tall pines. A quick glance around assured him that they were across the street from a familiar row of oddly numbered townhomes. He followed her to the gravel path, between a streetlight and a wrought-iron bench.

_Either she's trying to appeal to your inner hopeless romantic, or she's brought you here to kill you… _

He smiled wryly, unable to keep from sinking into the memory of a stolen kiss on a park bench. It felt like so long ago that he had wanted her for her bright smile and laughter, then for taste of her mouth and the feel of her in his hands; now what he wanted most was her solidarity, her steady voice, the security he felt when he was with her, her unremitting persistence to _move on_. It was something he didn't deserve.

The girl was washed-out and pale in the sodium-yellow halo of the streetlamp. Defeated shadows hung beneath her eyes, but she stood steadily in the middle of the path.

"Talk," she demanded.

"I want to apologize—"

"No. No more apologies. I want explanations, Remus, _why_ did you say that in the hospital?"

The weight of guilt and the grief in her eyes dragged the words out of him like slow torture.

"Because I was afraid." Her glare faltered and he continued. "Because I would—I would rather live in misery without you than to ever, ever see you hurt. And I did, I've done both, and it's my own stupid fault, and I am so scared that I'll…that I'm going to fuck this up even more than I have, and I know I will—" he realized he was shouting, pacing across the path, and he didn't stop, even at the sight of her, wide-eyed with her fingers pressed against her lips.  
"And I'm absolutely terrified that I'll lose you like I lost the others, and it'll be me making the trip to the cemetery on _your_ birthday to put flowers on _your_ grave, and avoiding places we went together, and turning off the wireless when I hear a song that you liked, so hate me all you want for trying not to let that happen by staying away from you, even though what I want most is to stay with you as long as I can, because I want _you_, because we could die tonight, or tomorrow, or a year from now. And I _am_ sorry I can't just dive into this like you can, it's only because I know what it feels like to drown, Nymphadora. I love you, and I want so, so badly to be everything you think I am but I'm _not_."

"But you _are_," she whispered, stumbling blindly into him, wrapping her arms around him. "You just can't see it." She put her forehead against his shoulder and wept a year's worth of sorrows into the lapel of his coat. He pulled her closer, buried his face in her hair and did the same, feeling no disgrace for it.

After a few minutes, or possibly several hours, she pushed away from him, taking the handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing roughly at her eyes.

"Dora, please," he took it from her fingers and used a much gentler approach than she had, wiping the paths of tears from her cheeks and tipping her chin up to meet her lips with his own in a brief kiss.

"How do you do it?" she asked, when he pulled away. "How do you keep going, after all the things that have happened—"

"You just start over. That's all."

Tonks nodded solemnly, toying with the buttons on his coat as he threaded his finger through her hair.

"So what do we do now, Nymphadora?" He pushed loose strands back from her tear-stained face as she looked up at him.

"We start over," she said firmly, taking both of his hands in her own. "And we keep going, and if we need to start over again, then so be it."

"So be it," he echoed, pressing a kiss to her brow.

The girl took a step backwards and stuck out her hand, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and smiling.

"Nymphadora Tonks."

He took her hand and shook it, quite aware that they were indeed starting over, from the very beginning.

"Remus Lupin."

"Wotcher, Remus," she grinned, without letting go.

He smiled back at her. "Pleasure to meet you, Tonks."

"You can call me Dora, if you want."

"Oh. Well, I know we've only just met and all, Dora—" Remus took a tiny wooden box from his coat pocket and dropped to one knee. "But I think this belongs to you."

* * *


End file.
